A Little Bit of Me, A Little Bit of You
by seaecho
Summary: When Davy accidentally reads Peter's journal, he gets the surprise of his life.


**CHAPTER ONE **

Davy let himself in the front door, noticing with a slight negative shake of his head that it was unlocked. Oh Peter. . . . Peter was always the last to leave in the morning, and rarely remembered such a mundane detail as locking a door. Peter was charming, entertaining and downright funner than hell, but sometimes exasperating too. Davy smiled slightly to himself-he'd never had a better buddy than Peter. In fact, there was a running joke between the Monkees' members that if you couldn't find Peter, just look for Davy, and vice versa- if you couldn't locate Davy, look for Peter and Davy would never be far away.

From his peripheral view, something on the kitchen table caught Davy's attention. It was a book of some sort- At first glance it looked like an address book or something similar. He wondered if it belonged to one of the others, although he'd never seen it before. It lay open, and, curious, Davy scanned the writing quickly. It didn't take more than a few seconds to realize it was personal-very much so. And it was also clearly Peter's handwriting. Davy purposely looked away, not wanting to snoop into someone else's business. This was something that was not for his eyes. But a minute or two later he found himself returning to the table, not able to resist, especially after having seen his name written on one of the pages. He couldn't stop, although he mentally admonished himself severely. A few more sentences, and he turned away yet again.

_Its none of my business, and Peter wouldn't want me reading about his private thoughts_, Davy reminded himself. But it was as if a hand was physically pulling him right back toward the journal. Or the pull of a magnet that was far too strong to break away from. For the next several minutes, Davy read open-mouthed, audibly gasping, eyes practically popping out of his head. Suddenly everything seemed surreal-he was numb, almost. He promptly picked up the journal, took it upstairs to the bedroom he shared with Peter, placed it carefully on Peter's bed, slunk out, slid down the bannister, landed running, and rushed out the front door as if a ghost were pursuing him.

"Petah? You home?" called Davy as he entered the apartment sometime later, squinting in the dim light cast by the lamp on the endtable that possessed way too little wattage- thanks to Micky buying the wrong bulb, and that no one had bothered to replace yet, even though it had been weeks.

"Yeah, Davy," came a weak, tremulous voice from the couch.

"I didn't see anyone's car but yours, but is anyone else home?"

"No, why?" The voice now sounded even more uncertain and quavery, and very unlike Peter, thought Davy as he hung up his jacket in the closet and approached the couch where Peter sat. Peter was sitting tensely, leaning forward with elbows on his knees, head down, seemingly playing with his fingers.

"Pete, what's wrong with you?" inquired Davy, knitting his eyebrows and tilting his head to one side as he often did when worried about something. Davy was trying very hard not to act out of character or reveal anything, and he was, after all, a good actor. He wanted to feel Peter out first-maybe discover something that might give him an advantage in figuring out what the hell was going on.

"Nothing, why?"

"Come on, mate. This is definitely _not_ the happy-go-lucky, upbeat, sickeningly cheerful Petah I know."

Peter avoided Davy's gaze like the plague. Those ever-knowing eyes could pierce his soul every time, and Davy never missed an opportunity to put his considerable intuition to use. He was one of those rare people with a gift for ferretting out problems, instinctively trying to help people who were troubled. Peter was convinced Davy would know instantly what was wrong just by looking at him.

That morning Peter had taken out his journal while no one was home. He'd kept one since the Monkees had first officially become a band. He enjoyed making entries almost daily, and over time it had become a regular ritual. Comforting, warm and fuzzy. He always left the house last in the morning, as he had to wait for everyone else to take their morning showers and shaves (well, except for Davy, because for him, shaving was optional) before he could get into the bathroom. Plus, he woke up slowly, so was always the last in line. So normally he was about 20 minutes behind. But he preferred this, as it gave him the opportunity to update his journal with no one else around. Even if it were only a few lines. He enjoyed it, and it helped give him perspective about his position in life and his career. He looked at it as a therapy of sorts.

But as of late, his journal entries had suddenly become essential, if not downright obsessive. It was almost as if he couldn't focus unless he journaled daily. He felt restless if he ever had to miss a day. He could vent, or feel sorry for himself, or express anger, sorrow, joy, anything, because it was his alone to read. If he didn't get his feelings down on paper like clockwork, he felt he might combust from within. It was getting out of control, and he knew it. But there was a good reason for it. Something was in the air lately, and it was unsettling to say the least. It had been coming on for some time, that much he now knew, yet it had still crept up on him. But it wasn't really palpable, mainly because he didn't know what was happening. Journaling might be helping him to deal with it, but it wasn't changing anything. Wasn't changing the strange, restless longing that lurked about, nagging at him relentlessly.

He'd written about the insanely fun times the group had had together since they had become the Monkees nearly two years ago. All the crazy schedules, lack of sleep, intense practice sessions, gigs, almost unendurable early Monday mornings after too much partying on the weekends, the kinship they'd developed because of these shared experiences. The great times on the beach, burying each other in the sand, poor Micky having sand kicked in his face by a jealous big brute of a man, the time Davy got caught in seaweed, and the way they all laughed lightheartedly about it afterward, adventurous rides in the Monkeemobile, Davy seemingly endlessly falling in love with one girl or another, bickering about how a song should sound, wrestling on the floor of their pad, being terribly silly at times. He'd recorded it all on paper, and was glad he had, as he knew how much pleasure he would get from reading it someday when he was an old man, who might well have only his memories to keep him company.

Except that there was one huge problem- he had written _too _much.Meaning he had expressed _everything_, including his innermost feelings, dreams and emotions. He had opened up completely to pen and paper. Wasn't that what a journal was for, after all? And that was the reason for his near panicked state upon Davy's arrival home tonight.

Fact was, Peter and Davy had grown extremely close in these past two years. All four of them had, but Peter felt what he shared with Davy could not even be compared to his relationship with Mike or Micky. It was charged with something intangible, something with amazing warmth and sweetness, and this concerned Peter. A lot. They were this far from being _too _close. In truth, Peter feared they were already there. Well, at least _he_ was. There were times when he could have sworn on a Bible that Davy was feeling the same stirrings from within that Peter felt, but there was no way of knowing for sure besides asking Davy, and he wasn't _about_ to do that.

Most perplexing of all, Peter had no idea what those feelings actually _were._ He was fond of Davy, yes_. _That was an understatement. But so was just about everyone who met David. It was impossible _not_ to be charmed by the beautiful young British man who had it all-personality, character, compassion, an incredible sense of humor, and who could also sing, dance, and act. But it, unfortunately, wasn't that simple. It was something that went much deeper than these attributes. Peter guessed it had been about a year, give or take, since they had become a band, that these feelings had started to come into being. There had been increasingly frequent moments when Peter and Davy's eyes had met across a room, or across the dinner table, or any random place, and it was almost as if electricity were in the very air. Davy was always very close by-so close Peter could often feel the warmth of his body. And it seemed as if Davy were doing it purposely. Without inhibition or embarrassment.

Davy was a very affectionate person and very secure in himself as a person and Peter really respected that. Davy didn't worry a whole lot about what other people thought. So, if he were feeling close to Peter, he got _physically _close. Peter had had many friends in his life that he cared a lot about, but never had he experienced this kind of bond with any of them. If he could have precisely described the feeling to himself, he might have felt somewhat more comfortable with it, but the fact was, it was impossible. He had tried many a sleepless night to put a name to it . . . anything. But it continued to elude him.

At first, Peter had just accepted it, shrugged it off, and wrote it off to all the time they'd spent together. This was the 60s, after all. "We were born to love one another," as Micky sang lead on one of their songs" For Pete's Sake" seemed to apply. Hippies, pot, flower children, the whole young generation favored peace, and it seemed love was emphasized above all else. There were bound to be fond feelings. But as time went on, he was growing more and more disconcerted, and lately, even alarmed at how intense the atmosphere was every time they shared one of those looks. For a very long time now, over the space of a year, the feelings had been building. It was that slow and easy. Very gradually and insidiously, as the ebb and flow of the ocean tide will eventually even wear away rock.

But Peter was not a rock-not even close. He was a gentle soul, extra sensitive and very vulnerable to hurt. And the thought of hurt scared him a lot. He didn't _want _these feelings. David was another man, and Peter was very fond of the ladies, and Davy, of course, was famous for it. There wasn't a gay bone in either of them, or so Peter had always thought.

His state of panic right now was reflected in his eyes-he knew it. That was why he could not bring his gaze up to meet Davy's, who stood in front of the couch where Peter was sitting-_too close,_ less than a foot away, in fact. Peter could _feel_ him there, even though his eyes remained downcast.

The only thing Peter could think about right now was the fact that _someone_ in the group had seen his journal. The journal that he had poured his heart into, including, most importantly, the strange feelings he had developed for David. And he had no way of knowing who.

This morning, Peter had almost finished getting ready for the day, and, since he was running even later than usual, had brought his journal downstairs, something he never did, in his haste to grab some instant oatmeal while he wrote a few paragraphs. Normally the journal always stayed in his underwear drawer, no exceptions, well hidden at the bottom of about a dozen pairs of his jockey shorts. The least likely place, he figured, any of the other guys would venture. But then the phone had rang, and he had answered it while shoving the last spoonful of oatmeal down his gullet. The call had been from Micky, asking Peter to please bring the 12 pack of Dr. Pepper in the refrigerator along with him to rehearsal that morning for their next gig. Peter got off the phone, and in his haste, he had retrieved the Dr. Pepper and rushed out the door-his journal open and forgotten right in the middle of the kitchen table.

When Peter had arrived home that evening, he had gone upstairs to change into more comfortable clothes when he spied the journal lying in the middle of his bed! That was when he remembered he'd left it downstairs, on the table. There was a moment of pure panic. He had sucked in his breath with a loud gasp, an awful, sick like feeling coursing through him. For a minute there, he feared he would puke. He breathing quickened, his heart pounded in his ears, and he blushed a deep red, even though he was all alone in the house.

"Oh my god, oh my god," he said over and over to himself, disbelief engulfing him. A million thoughts raced through his mind all at the same time. He sat down on the edge of the sloppily made bed and felt faint. _Who had seen it? _ Someone had been home before him, and then left again. No doubt, not until they had read at least some of his journal. After all, how many people can resist a journal sitting wide open on the kitchen table? Even the most honest person in the world would have a hard time not even looking at it. Chances were overwhelming too, he had to admit, that the person had read at least one entry about his feelings for Davy. Probably much more than that. Yep, _someone_ knew. They'd even put it on his bed when they were done with it! Vivid thoughts started to torture him. The very worst of it was, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. What was done, was done.

Peter walked back down the stairs slowly, deliberately, not even feeling the steps beneath his feet. He felt numb and shakey all over, like his legs would buckle out from under him at any moment. And so ashamed. So dirty. Even so, he tried to remind himself that no explicit thoughts had been written in the journal. Not a single one. Just words of his admiration for Davy and the fact that he felt something for him that he couldn't begin to define. But no explicit thoughts _needed _to be written. He couldn't deny that the intense underlying feelings must have come through even on paper. He was still sitting on the couch, not even knowing how much time had passed, as if in a trance, when Davy walked in the door.

If there was one thing Davy was good at when the situation called for it, was being direct. So that is the approach he now took.

"Petah, we have to talk." Davy's face was dead serious. None of the usual light hearted humor brightened his face. Peter was still looking down, but at Davy's words, he froze. He stopped fiddling with his fingers, and he almost stopped breathing altogether. He had to remind himself mentally to inhale. He would surely _die_ if Mike or Micky had stumbled upon his journal, but _DAVY!_ That would be the absolute worst. And the most embarrassing. By far. Unfortunately, the tone of Davy's voice left little doubt. Suddenly, Peter felt as if he were outside his body, watching with horror as this scene unfolded.

When Peter didn't respond to his statement (in fact, it looked to Davy that he wasn't even able to), Davy took over.

"Look Pete, I saw your. . . diary, or, what do they call them-_journal,_ that's it. . . on the table. I put it on your bed so no one else would see it and went out for a drive to try to clear my head." So he _had_ read it! He had to have, because it was out of character for Davy to go out for a drive after work to "clear his head." The term "clear his head" is what got Peter's attention the most. It meant serious thought was involved. Davy only went out for drives if he were very disturbed or concerned about something such as a broken love affair, an argument with one of the other band members, or anything else that induced strong feelings, whether good or bad.

"David, I'm sorry," were the first words instinctively out of Peter's mouth, and, he felt, the most appropriate. Peter's face flushed so hot that he felt it must be turning purple. He broke into a cold sweat and his hands shook. His mouth was so dry he felt he would choke. Oh good Lord, what must Davy be thinking of him? He wanted to crawl in to a hole and never come back out.

"Petah, look up at me." Peter still hadn't met his gaze, and frankly didn't know if he could force himself to. But he did. Davy was still standing oh-so- close. Peter looked at his eyes only for an instant before he looked away, but he accomplished it. Davy's face looked pained, as if he were feeling Peter's suffering. And indeed, Peter was sure he was. Empathy was just Davy's way. He didn't know any other way to be. It came so naturally to him.

"Its not your fault... you just stated your feelings... I'm just really glad no one else saw it," said Davy.

Peter cleared his throat and forced himself to speak. "Um, how do you know no one else saw it?"

"I was the first one home. Micky and Mike were still in the parking lot talking to some guys about their plans for this weekend. I headed straight home. No chance anyone was here before I was. And you can _bet_ I won't tell anyone about it." Of that, Peter had no doubt. Aside from the fact that Peter knew from experience that Davy was completely trustworthy with any secret, Davy also would never have wanted to have to face the others with the knowledge that they _knew. _

Peter drew an enormous sigh of relief. The embarrassment was horrible enough with Davy knowing, but if Mike and/or Micky knew, it would be 100 times worse.

"And yes, I got here not long before you... but remember I'm a fast reader. I only read so much before I had to get out of here to digest it. . . and I wasn't really successful either."

Peter swallowed hard. "So. . . just how much did you read?" Peter's voice sounded like a croak to his own ears. It took a lot for Peter to force the words out, but he felt he _needed_ to know, _had_ to know.

"Enough," said David simply. "Enough. I apologize for reading it. . . and I even walked away from it twice, but in the end, curiousity won out. . . . I'm sorry."

**CHAPTER TWO **

Davy then sat down on the couch beside Peter. Not too close-but close enough to try to be comforting. "Stay close enough to guide me, confide in me." The words from " I Wanna Be Free" briefly flitted through Peter's mind. Wasn't that just like Davy? He always put others before himself-especially their feelings. Peter knew Davy felt bad for Peter, might have even pitied him. The mere thought of that possibility almost crushed Peter.

"Damn but I'm embarrassed," was all Peter could manage to say.

"And damn but I'm shocked," was Davy's reply. "I _never_. . . had any idea. Well, maybe the tiniest inkling of an idea . . . but I never knew the extent. . . . not by a long shot."

"Oh God, I feel all twisted up. I don't even know _myself_ what's going on. I'm just sorry you had to see it."

Just then Mike and Micky walked in, and the chance to clarify or even try to explain how Peter felt, was instantly squashed.

"Hey guys. I don't feel like cookin' tonight. What you say we order pizza?" Mike looked tired. It had been a long day.

"What? No hot dogs tonight?" asked Micky. " He liked to tease Mike about his lack of cooking ability, as hot dogs were one of the few things Mike knew how to prepare. Which was still more than the rest of them knew about cooking.

Half an hour later they sat around the table and couch, or wherever they felt like mingling and devoured the extra large pizza. Davy, as usual, stayed very near Peter. Peter was distinctly uncomfortable, but took extra pains to be sure no one noticed. He tried his hardest to act his usual silly self, making lame jokes and poking fun at the others. He felt Davy's eyes on him, felt their scrutiny almost burning a hole through him, but he didn't look back. Almost from the beginning they had had a lot of eye contact.

At first it had made Peter uncomfortable, but over their two years together, Peter had grown accustomed to it. He came to realize it was partly because Davy was just one of those people who likes to study people and their facial expressions, and partly because the two of them were so close. So the other guys expected it, and Peter realized that if he suddenly stopped looking at Davy they would wonder why. It was nearly impossible at first, but as the night wore on, he started gazing back at Davy, even through his acute embarrassment, and in a very short time, they fell back into their old routine. It felt good. And it relieved a bit of Peter's misery.

When he thought about it, Peter realized they had nearly always semi-flirted with each other, and it felt more natural than _not_. Davy flashed Peter his signature smile that had been so instrumental in his upcoming fame. Peter had not the slightest doubt Davy was going to make it big. That sexy, dreamy smile that was complimented by Davy's big brown eyes with his hair always falling over his forehead, his sexy, full lips that drove girls wild. The smile that made pre teen, teenage, older girls and even much older women alike all lightheaded. Even though Davy was not yet famous, he was well on his way, and Peter had no doubt he'd go far. He got stared at wherever he went. He had a way of lighting up an entire room when he walked in. There was no way anyone was immune to his unique charisma. At least this meant Davy was not angry or disgusted with him, Peter reflected. Although he couldn't imagine that ever happening anyway, as Davy was just plain not like that. Davy was very deep, not shallow.

When the boys finally turned in for the night, Peter and Davy retired to their shared bedroom. Peter knew what was coming, and no sooner had their door been closed that Davy announced again that they needed to talk.

"I just can't, David. Not yet. I have to get this sorted out in my head, if that's even possible."

"I want you to know up front . . . . that I'm not judging you in any way. You know me well enough to know I'm telling you the truth. When you're ready to talk about this. . . and I feel its imperative that we do. . . just let me know." Davy was so damn sincere! It was killing Peter, and only making matters worse. Davy was becoming even more attractive to him every minute. A complication Peter didn't need right now. Why couldn't he be _mean_ about it and make things easier for Peter?

After they turned the lights out and rolled over in their twin beds, with only a few feet between them, Peter waited until Davy was asleep and then studied his profile. The nightlight that Peter insisted on having because the dark made him uneasy, illuminated Davy's face just enough for Peter to make it out. How could God have made a person so perfect, he marveled. It must have been one hell of a lot of work. A masterpiece. Davy's skin was so smooth and perfect, his lips so sensual, his hair so dark and thick and soft looking, and he looked positively angelic as he slept. Davy also had the heart to go with his looks. He was a true friend, he loved animals and kids, he wrote poetry, he'd do anything for you, he would lend you a shoulder whenever you needed it and he would never judge you or put you down. It astonished Peter that Davy was just as beautiful inside as he was outside. Peter reflected on how blessed he felt to have such a friend.

Days passed, and then the weekend inevitably came. Peter dreaded it because he knew Mike and Micky had plans to go out. He was tempted to go with them just so he didn't have to stay around the pad with Davy, who had made it clear he was _not_ going out. Davy had looked straight at Peter when he made the statement, and Peter sensed it was because he wanted to see Peter's reaction. Peter had not reacted, just nodded and said noncommittedly that he wasn't sure of his plans as of yet.

He really, _really_ was not in the mood to go out with Mike and Micky. That surprised him, because not that long ago, he was all for hitting the clubs with the other band members. He told himself it was because he would feel bad leaving Davy alone at home, but he knew he was only fooling himself. And not doing a very good job of it either. Fact is, he _wanted_ to spend the evening alone at home with Davy. He was just so damn embarrassed to face Davy and talk about it, which he knew Davy would insist upon. There was no getting away from Davy when he was determined. You could kick, bite, scream and fight, but David would hold fast until he could tame you as if you were a wild animal. He'd bug you and pester you and follow you around until you would agree to just about anything just to get him to stop. For God's sake, he'd even try to follow you into the bathroom! Peter had witnessed it a couple of times before, once when Mike was going through a rough patch with a girl. Davy had nearly driven Mike insane, and out of sheer desperation to get rid of the little pesky shadow, Mike had finally confided in Davy. Davy, always true to his word, had not breathed a word of it to anyone, and the trouble had eventually been resolved. Not from Davy's doing, as Davy's main concern was just trying to be a support to Mike as Mike worked out the problem himself. He must like being a sounding board, Peter thought. Simply, Davy _cared._

David believed strongly in open communication and airing your feelings. Felt it was particularly necessary between members who shared the same living quarters, and people you worked with. Both of which applied to the Monkees singing group. Peter had always admired him greatly for that, but this situation was just too, well. . . intimate. Too close to home, so to speak. He didn't want to discuss his feelings for Davy with Davy because he wasn't sure he trusted himself to know exactly what might come out of his mouth. Didn't think he could even articulate his feelings. He was also deathly afraid of freaking Davy, and maybe himself, out.

But the voice of reason inevitably spoke up, loud and clear. Almost as soon as Mike and Micky had driven off, David practically launched himself on Peter.

"All right, Pete. I've been patient long enough. I knew I said I'd wait until you were ready, but I'm taking that back. Its tonight or never. I want to know what's going on."

"For God's sake, David! You read my journal, or at least part of it. You _know_ what's going on. Or rather, I should say, I don't know any more than you do."

"What's that supposed to mean, mate?"

"It means that what I wrote is all I know. Do you think I'd lie to my journal? " Boy, did that sound funny, even to Peter's ears.

"So you're confused about what you're feeling, do I hear you right?" determined little sucker, he was, thought Peter.

"That's exactly what you heard."

"Its not so unusual, you know, Pete. Haven't you ever heard of this kind of thing happening before?"

"No, can't say I have." Peter was miserable. Why wouldn't Davy just let him be? He'd never known anyone before who was so tenacious.

"So you don't realize. . . well, _I_ think _you're_ sexy?" This statement hit Peter over the head like a hammer. Good god, what was this Peter was hearing coming out of Davy's mouth? He was so stunned he couldn't even answer. He just stared blankly at Davy, wondering if this weren't all part of a bizarre dream.

"Its true," continued Davy. "And yeah, I'm embarrassed to admit it to you, but. . .for instance. . . when you do that hip gyration when you dance with your guitar when you really get into a song, well. . . sometimes it gets to me. No, wait. . . it _always_ gets to me," he said as an afterthought.

Davy's eyebrows knit together in concentration.

"And when you shake your guitar, and also when you take your hand off the neck of the guitar and swing your arm around and back into position again, its. . . . exciting."

Peter really enjoyed playing and was usually the most animated one in the group (except when Micky got exceptionally silly), but he'd had _no idea_ it had an effect on Davy! Suddenly, Peter felt a lot better just from hearing Davy's confession. Davy had really put himself out there, admitting those things, and, as usual, he'd worked his magic once again. Peter was starting to feel more comfortable with this subject. Davy should have been born a therapist!

"How do you do it, David? Always make me feel like I'm not a freak when I come to you for advice? Or in this situation, when you _read my journal_?"

"I'm only speaking the truth, and I still feel guilty about reading your journal. I'm hoping you'll forgive me someday for that."

"Hell, I've already forgiven you. I doubt I could have resisted either."

Peter sighed.

"Okay, well now, tell me more about your feelings." No. . . was he actually going to torture Peter even more? For Peter, their conversation had already been painful enough, but now Davy wanted _more?_

"What more do you want, you little twerp! I said I have feelings, and I don't know what to do with them."

"But what _kind_ of feelings?"

Okay, so it was a losing battle. Davy would not back down and Peter could just imagine them sitting up arguing about this all night. And he knew without a doubt that if that's what it took for Davy to get it out of him, that's what Davy would do.

"Shit! All right, I'm attracted to you... I think you're cute, you turn me on. Is that what you want to hear?" Peter's patience had come to an end and his slightly raised voice showed it.

Davy smiled that half-smile of his that could practically bring Peter and countless girls to their knees. "Yes, Petah! That's what I wanted to hear! As long as its the truth."

"Oh, and just one more thing. I saw you looking me last night when you thought I was asleep." Davy threw an impish smile at Peter. Peter couldn't help but smile. Nope, you didn't get much past Davy.

"I give up. Guilty as charged." They both laughed heartily.

"Now," said Davy. "Now that's it out in the open and we know where we stand, we can discuss it further at a later date. How about a movie?" And Davy switched the TV on and popped some popcorn in the microwave as naturally as you please. Just like old times, before this _thing_ happened. They had a wonderful evening, Peter was finally able to relax a bit. And Peter could _almost_ forget that this whole awful thing happened. But not quite. . .

**CHAPTER THREE**

Girls. . . when you were a Monkee, or most especially if you spent any time with Davy Jones, girls were a constant that never changed. Females after Davy outnumbered the other three Monkees ten to one. They adored him, worshiped him, cried for him, screamed for him. Just plain loved him with all their hearts. And Peter could relate to it on a very deep level.

As their fame started to rise, they had to be increasingly careful to make it to the Monkeemobile in time before the girls caught up with them. Great hoards of girls. Some of those girls were real sprinters! They all knew things could get downri_g_ht dangerous or even deadly if those girls ever caught them and dragged them down. So far it hadn't happened, but there had been a few very close calls. Yes, it was evident their fame was growing by the day. Those females would do _anything_ to get a lock of hair from one of them (usually Davy) or a piece of their shirts, jewelry, or anything in their reach on the guy's persons. To the point of ripping, scratching, tearing. . . it was frightening. At times Peter was afraid the girls might roll the Monkeemobile over before they could burn rubber out of there.

And of course, the band members would date. Mostly not serious, but not usually just one night stands either. They weren't _total _ womanizers. Peter remembered many instances where he had felt a sharp pang of jealousy when Davy brought a girl home. He'd felt a bit bewildered by it. But he'd assumed he was jealous of all the attention Davy got. Now he realized now that he was actually not wanting the girls to touch and kiss Davy. He could admit that now. Maybe later on, he'd have enough courage to tell Davy about it. Davy certainly wouldn't look down on him for it-he'd proved that already. Peter could trust Davy to look at it logically and just accept it for what it was. What it actually _was _though, Peter was still unclear about. He reckoned it would come to him eventually. But for now, why not follow Davy's casual, laid back attitude about it? No sense in stressing out about it. It was what it was. . . _whatever_ it was.

Musing the way Peter did so often, he was surprised at himself that he hadn't dated in a while. In fact, it had been at least a couple of months since he'd gone on a date or brought a girl home. He had taken to relieving his pent up sexual frustration himself when no one was home. Davy actually didn't date as often as you would think for a guy who could have just about any woman he wanted. Davy was not in the habit of being promiscuous. He also didn't like hurting anyone or anything. So it was his habit to date only one girl at a time. He had no steady girlfriend at the moment.

Lately Peter had just not had the desire to seek out women. Oh, there were always women who wanted him because he was a Monkee, as most girls loved musicians, but if he were to be completely honest with himself, he felt a bit burned out. He had never dated this seldom, as of late. And he thought he might be on to an idea as to why. Nothing made Peter happier than to see Davy's smile, his gentle teasing, the way he occasionally let loose around the house, doing his signature version of the Boogaloo or the Scate. Doing Broadway moves. Dancing from room to room, making the other Monkees laugh every time. Even getting smiles out of Mike! In fact, Peter liked that much more than watching girls walk by, or dance. All Peter had to do was watch Davy to be perfectly content. He had a hard time taking his eyes off him. He could do it for hours and never tire of it. This was worrying. . .

Peter wondered sleepily why it wasn't a crime for _anyone_ to look this good first thing in the morning. Stretching luxuriously and then sitting on the edge of his bed with his hair rumpled from sleep, his pajamas all askew, somehow David was still godly. Peter wanted to jump him, right then and there. Davy flashed him an innocent smile.

"I know," murmured Peter groggily, "you could hide 'neath the wings of the bluebird as she sings, and the six o'clock alarm would never ring."

"But it rings, and I rise, wipe the sleep out of my eyes. Me shavin' razor's cold, and it stings."

"Except for the shaving razor is optional." Davy hit Peter with a pillow and headed downstairs.

Rolling over to get his extra 20 minutes of sleep while Davy and the others got ready for a recording session, Peter had visions as he drifted off that were beyond his control. On the edge of sleep, his mind imagined he and Davy kissing. Even in the dream, Peter was shocked. This was the first time Peter had let his mind even go in that direction. Up until now, the farthest he had gotten with his thoughts was how handsome and charming his buddy was. The kiss was so intense that when he automatically woke up in exactly 20 minutes as he always did after Davy rose, he was immensely relieved to realize it had only been a dream. And since you can't control dreams, well then. . . it wasn't his fault, was it?

Spring was well on its way, and it had been warming up steadily for the last week. Peter loved springtime. It was his favorite season. The promise of summer lingered in the air, plants and animals alike coming to life. It was, after all, the season of love. And Peter was a sucker for that. A hopeless romantic, as the expression went. He breathed deeply of the fresh fragrance of roses and jasmine from a neighboring yard as he hopped into his car to start the day. He was smiling and feeling more inner peace than he had in a long time.

The recording session went well. The boys took their time setting up, as they knew Peter would be showing up exactly 20 minutes late, like clockwork. Later, when Mike began singing "You Just May Be the One," Peter automatically went into his hip swivel when the music changed beats, as he always did at that particular frame within that song. It just came naturally to him and it was how he expressed himself. Then he remembered how David had commented on it. He didn't look directly at Davy when he did it, for fear of what he'd see. Fear of the unknown, he supposed. Nevertheless, He loved this part of the song, and he knew why. Davy invariably smiled at him during this part.

And what a smile! It was the same smile that melted the young girls' hearts, and made Peter's legs feel rubbery. It was a full smile, and Peter was drawn in, yet again. Their eyes held for a very long time. Davy's eyes positively sparkled. Every time Davy smiled at him that way, Peter felt a pull in his heart, as if it would pop right out of his chest. Warmth seemed to engulf him from head to toe. Only someone watching them perform that song and the others where the magic happened, could you even get an inkling of how Peter felt. You just had to be there. And it happened every time. The love, the friendship was there, right out in the open for all to see. Its something you just can't fake. Peter was left literally breathless after the song ended, and not because of the effort of singing and playing.

After a few hours of recording, and as they were putting their instruments away, Davy approached Peter from the side. "Let's go to the beach, yeah?" he said very softly, almost in a whisper, just inches from Peter's ear. Peter smiled and nodded at Davy, indicating that was fine with him. _Fine with him?_ Understatement, if there ever was one! Hell, yeah! Peter was praying with all he had that Davy wouldn't invite Micky and Mike along. The way Davy had practically whispered the invitation to Peter told him they were most likely the only ones going. With the weather warming up to the mid 80s today, it was a perfect opportunity for Peter to spend some time alone with Davy, on the beach. How much better did it get than that?

Micky asked what they had planned. (It was usually taken for granted that Davy and Peter would be doing something together, as that was the case 90% of the time). Peter found himself actually holding his breath. Davy was elusive and vague. "I don't know. Might just hang out, somewhere." Davy was trying hard not to make it sound like he and Peter would be doing anything exciting, so as not to encourage the others to want to tag along. It worked. Mike was craving some TV time at home on the couch, and Micky said he might as well take a nap. Funny, how easy it all fell into place.

"We'll have to disguise ourselves," said Davy once they were in Davy's car.

_"What? _How do you disguise yourself when you're going to the _beach_?" This intrigued Peter. He could just see going for a swim and your fake mustache and/or wig coming off. The idea was comical, not to mention impractical.

" Wow, disguise ourselves. I can't believe how goofy that sounded. Forget I said it."

"Better yet, let's find a secluded spot." _Much_ better suggestion. This was sounding more attractive by the minute. All Peter could do was nod his head vigorously. Davy chuckled, and Peter had to giggle too.

They had a blast on the beach. They found a spot that was relatively secluded, but they knew they still had to be constantly on the look-out for Davy-crazy girls. A real pain in the ass, but that was just part of becoming famous. It would only get worse as time went on. You never knew when those girls might appear, and often with little or no warning. They laid in the sun on their beach towels that Davy kept in his car trunk for a while, until Peter suggested they go in for a dip.

"Think its warm enough?"

"Won't know until we try," was Davy's answer.

So in the water they went. Clothes and all, minus their shoes, of course. It was pretty cold, but neither one wanted to admit that. They were having way too much fun. Before long, they were out past the waves, both being strong swimmers. Davy's head disappeared as he dove under the water. A moment later, Peter felt him grab his leg. The Monkees did stuff like this all the time to each other, so it was nothing unusual. They were a very hands-on group. It was just that this time it affected Peter in a _big _way. He felt like sparks must be coming off the water. The feel of Davy's fingers on his calf, even through his pants, was electric. Peter laughed, then dove under to grab one of Davy's legs, only to promptly knock heads with Davy. BOOM! It wasn't hard enough to hurt badly, but was a pretty good bump. They both emerged at the same time, looked at each other for a moment, rubbed their heads, and dissolved into laughter. They spent the next half hour body surfing the waves.

Later on shore, Peter was wearing his thongs (as they were known back then- the term flip-flops hadn't come into being yet) that he'd spied in Davy's trunk from their last beach trip, and they walked along the beach for a while. Peter didn't want to leave, although it would be dinner time soon, and they were both getting hungry. Peter didn't want this time alone together to end. He was just so grateful that Davy didn't treat him any differently than before he knew about Peter's crush on him. That showed a lot of trust on Davy's part. He trusted in Peter's friendship, and it proved Davy knew Peter would never abuse it. Of course Davy was used to people having crushes on him, lived with it every day of his life, but not fellow _band members_ and it amazed Peter how much in stride the little tambourine player took it. He thought no less of Peter, of that Peter was sure. His attitude had not changed in the least. The very last thing Peter wanted in this world was to lose Davy's friendship.

At one point, Davy slowed down and stopped to look an an interesting shell, and Peter was engrossed in picking a bit seaweed loose from one of his thongs. In his imagination, he saw a huge clump of it chasing him and swallowing him and everything in its path, like the blob on that old movie. He smiled to himself. What an imagination he had! Davy had somehow gotten wrapped up in it last summer, and it had taken all three of the others to untangle him. It was nearly the size of Davy! It had picked the right target, all right. They'd all been laughing so hard that they'd nearly drowned Davy in their efforts to tear it free. Peter still remembered the helpless look on Davy's face as he'd yelled for help. "Arrgggh! Get this bloody stuff off me!"

Suddenly there was a shout from Davy, who was not more than 20 feet behind him. "Girls!Run, Petah!"

Davy was sprinting directly at him at an alarming rate of speed. That little sucker was _fast!_ He was in top shape, aside from being naturally incredibly athletic, and Peter knew Davy could outrun him. He'd often passed Peter who was running wide open, as if he were standing still.

By the time Peter turned to run toward the car as Davy was doing, Davy had caught up with him, narrowly missed side-swiping him, and then it happened. Davy's foot came down on the back of Peter's thong. What happened next was a very fast blur. Of course, it stopped Peter dead in his tracks, and he pitched forward with tremendous velocity, and went straight down, face first, into the sand. He raised his head, and felt the sand caked all over his face, even into his mouth. But there was no time to waste, as the girls were closing in fast. There were 4 of them, and they were running for all they were worth.

Davy then grabbed Peter's hand and pulled him up, yanking him forward. "Come on, man! They're gonna cream us if we don't get outta here!" Davy's accent was especially strong as it always was with heightened emotions, and his eyes were dilated from fear. Davy kept ahold of Peter's hand until they reached the car, a few hundred yards away, chests heaving by now. They practically dove inside, locking the doors immediately. Looking out of the window, the girls were nowhere in sight. They had given up when they saw Davy and Peter had made it to the car.

"Whew!" said Peter between great gulps of air. "Thanks for saving my ass. I sure hope they didn't have a camera though. I can just see the picture of you and me holding hands, running along the beach."

Davy burst into laughter. "Shit, who gives a damn? I don't care, do you?" For the second time that day, Davy had warmed Peter's heart.

Seconds later, Davy again burst into laughter. Peter asked what was so funny, but Davy was laughing so hard, all he could do was point at Peter. Tears streamed down his cheeks. That's when Peter realized they were sitting, fully clothed and soaking wet in Davy's car, and Peter's entire face was coated with sand, including his hair where it fell over his forehead. He could feel clumps of it clinging to his skin. They couldn't get out of the car for fear the girls might be lurking nearby, ready to pounce. So they had to drive home like that.

"I'm sorry about your seats, man," said Peter as they exited the vehicle. Davy waved it away. "That's what car washes are for. And. . . I'm going to hire someone to do it, because I finally have the money to not have to do it myself!" he exclaimed, as if it were the world's greatest luxury. Davy took nothing for granted.

It was the weekend again, and Mike and Micky both had girlfriends over, and in their bedrooms. Well, actually, Micky and his companion, with permission, were using Peter and Davy's room. Peter and Davy were downstairs, feeling somewhat awkward and uneasy, knowing what was going on in the bedrooms.

"So, what do you wanna do?" asked Peter uncomfortably.

"You decide. . . . and by the way, I'll tell you what's been on my mind all day... Why aren't _we_ with girls tonight, like Mike and Micky?" Leave it to Davy to be direct.

Peter immediately wondered, was this some sort of test? You never knew what may lie beneath Davy's remarks. He was tricky that way. You had to be on your toes. His question, like a lot of them lately, had not been expected at all, caught Peter off guard, and he was again, like so often lately, at a loss for words. "I don't know," was all he could get past his dry lips.

"Look, Petah. Maybe we need to talk a little more." _Oh no, not again._ Why did Davy insist on repeatedly trying to analyze this, this _thing _between them?

"If you're wondering if I feel the same way you do, then I can't answer that," Davy continued on, as if Peter were playing an active part of the conversation. "For one thing, I don't know how you _really _feel, because you haven't come right out and said it. But I can tell you one thing for sure. I don't know. . . if I'm even capable of having. . . _feeling_s toward someone of the same gender as me. Thinking you're sexy, and have great moves when you play a guitar might not mean a thing. Then again, it might. The thing is. . . what I value most, Pete, is our friendship. That's the bottom line. I wouldn't give that up for anything. That much I know."

It was amazing. Davy was speaking of the _very same_ things Peter had been pondering for weeks. It was almost as if he and Davy were of one mind. But at the same time, Davy's words worried him, and yes, they hurt a little too. Maybe Davy _didn't _feel as strongly toward him as what Peter felt for Davy. In fact, that was almost certainly the case. Perhaps, for Davy, it was just that warm, cozy feeling that was a result of their close friendship, and not a crush at all. Not that their friendship wasn't spectacular in and of itself, but Peter wasn't at all sure anymore that he could live with just that, and no more. It was time Peter start facing his feelings, he knew that. But if there was one thing he would _never_, ever do, it would be to jeopardize that friendship. So yes, where that was concerned, they were of the same mind. But on the same page on all fronts? Peter was not fool enough to allow himself the luxury of believing that.

But as far as Peter himself was concerned, he had recently sort of resigned himself to the fact that Davy was rapidly becoming much more than a friend to him. More than a crush, even. He couldn't fight it anymore. Didn't even want to. Was weary of even trying. Being so close to Davy on a daily basis, even sleeping in the next bed in the same room with him each night was wearing him down, gnawing at his insides, practically torturing him. You'd think he'd be sick of seeing Davy almost all his waking hours, that he would have had more than his fill of him. But strangely, the more he was around Davy, the more he wanted. It wasn't just lust either. Adoring someone was not merely lust.

Micky could get on his nerves. Micky had lots of highs and lows. Bordering on manic at times, he could be almost hysterically goofy one day, and very quiet and somber the next. Mike sometimes got sullen and difficult to the point to where even being in the same room with him depressed Peter. Micky and Mike were human, though. And that's what humans do. Peter was no better than they were. Although more apt to be "up" than down most of the time, Peter knew he was far from perfect.

But Peter couldn't remember the last time that damn little Manchester Cowboy was depressed. He went around with this _genuine_ smile on his face most of the time. Davy wasn't faking it-that's just how he was. Benevolent almost to a fault, ready to drop anything at a moment's notice if someone needed him, always being understanding. . . for God's sake, Peter had actually witnessed Davy help a little old lady across the street once! He had also seen him buy a kid a replacement ice cream cone when the kid had dropped his on the pavement. Davy would also offer money to the person he was behind in line at the cashier if they didn't have enough for their merchandise! This was just something that was inherent in Davy, but, damn it, it made things even more difficult for Peter to convince himself that Davy was no more, and _could_ be no more, than a very close friend. His type was so rare.

Good God, what had he gotten himself into? Even worse, how was he going to get out of this without someone getting hurt? Davy? Himself? He would much rather it be himself, as he would rather _die_ than hurt Davy. But he didn't think he had to worry about that-it was pretty apparent that Davy, while he clearly cherished Peter's company, valued their friendship more than anything else. And thus, even if he _were_ interested in Peter in _that_ way, he would never let it happen.

**CHAPTER FOUR**

David came to Peter in a dream the night before, and said simply, "Give me time, Petah."

Those words stayed with Peter for the rest of the day. He felt it was a sign, but he didn't want to get too hopeful. Every night before bed, the two of them would change into their pajamas and then say good night before turning off the light. Peter wanted to talk-he was actually missing Davy's personal questions now. It seemed time was standing still and they were too.

When Davy announced he had a date Saturday night, Peter's heart dropped, and he felt he would die on the spot. He had no right to feel bad-he'd been promised nothing. Nothing but this precious friendship, which was really the world. How could he hope for something more when he already had the world?

When Davy was getting ready, Peter somehow got the courage to knock on the bathroom door, fighting the urge to turn and run away. Davy invited him in, and he turned the knob and entered. Davy stood at the mirror, combing his hair. Peter took in the white shirt and black pants that made Davy look stunning. Well, just about _any_ clothes made Davy look stunning. He could smell Davy's aftershave (which always drove him wild) and hoped the girl Davy was seeing tonight would appreciate him as much as Peter did. Somehow he doubted it.

Peter sat down on the toilet, quietly watching. Davy turned and looked into Peter's eyes with that _look _of his. This disconcerted Peter, even though he was used to Davy's intensity. But tonight it was more extreme than ever before, he thought. They studied each other, neither looking away for what seemed like hours, although probably only a minute or two went by.

Can I do something for you, Petah?" In other words, _I'm busy, what do you want_, thought Peter.

"No. . . I just. . . . well, wanted to wish you luck on your date tonight."

"Thanks! Its about time I stopped sitting around and started going out again, don't you think?"

"Yeah. Why did you stop going out as much, anyway?"

Davy's voice was smooth, deliberate and confident sounding. "Oh, I don't know. I guess I was just a bit tired of girls who tend to be shallow. I mean, you never know if they like you for _you_, or just who you are. But I figured I'll have to give it a shot or I'll forget how to date!" Davy smiled and emitted a chuckle that sounded a bit insincere to Peter. Peter got the feeling he was forcing it.

When Davy went out the door, Micky asked Peter to go to a nightclub with him. Lately it had been more and more difficult turning Micky and Mike down. They weren't used to Peter not wanting to go out with them. But Peter pleaded a headache ( a migraine, no less ) and they left too, leaving Peter all alone. Peter retired to the bedroom. He supposed he was feeling sorry for himself. Here he was, a young, virile guy, who usually loved pursuing women, at home alone on a Saturday night while his roommates were out having fun. And it was no one's fault but his own.

There came a knock on his bedroom door not two minutes after he'd plopped down on the bed. He heart raced-Davy! He'd decided not to go out after all! "Come in," he said, trying to keep his voice sounding casual.

It was Micky. Not exactly who he wanted or expected to see. "What are you doing here? I thought you went out."

"I did, but reconsidered and came back for a few minutes. Mike took his car, so he's not waiting, so I can talk a bit longer to you." High energy Micky said this all in a rush.

"About what?" Peter was beginning to feel very uncomfortable and very irritated. "What in the world did Micky want to talk to him about?"

"Uh. . . Pete, you've been acting strange lately and I was wondering if anything's wrong." Oh boy, joy of joys, now _Micky_ was going to start asking him questions! Was there no end to these interrogations?

"Like I said, I have a migraine, and just don't feel like going out."

"Pete, your light is on, and when you have a headache, you always turn it off because it bothers your eyes. I think you're lying." No one but Micky could be quite so blunt.

"Let's get to the point, Tork. What's goin' on? Aren't we supposed to be friends?"

"Of course we are, Mick. Listen, its just me. Its not you or anyone else. Maybe my headache's not all that bad- I'm just in a bit of a funk right now."

Micky flashed one of his goofy signature smiles. "Ahhhh, I thought so! I'm observant, ya know." Peter was thinking that probably only a sloth would _not_ have noticed that something was different. It was getting harder to conceal every day.

"Come to think of it, David's been acting kinda weird too. But at least _he_ went out tonight, which is more than I can say for you. You know, maybe he's in love again. Maybe with that girl he's seeing tonight. That would explain his funny behavior. You know how Davy always acts a little off when he's in love. Dreamy eyed, head in the stars and tongue hanging down to his knees."

Peter laughed. For a minute there, he had been afraid Micky might be suspecting something, but it didn't seem that way now. In fact, Peter was surprised Mike hadn't talked to him yet. He'd bet money that would happen within a short period of time, Peter mused. Mike was astute enough that Peter would have a hell of a time deceiving him. Not that Micky wasn't capable of it too, it was just that Micky was distracted, and had Saturday night and girls on his mind. And that became even more clear when Micky stated he had to go, otherwise he might lose Mike at the club, and Micky was always nervous going into a club by himself. He offered Peter an aspirin, and satisfaction registered on his face as Peter swallowed it down with a glass of water. He'd done his good deed for the day. As Micky left the room, Peter heard him sliding down the bannister, but unlike Davy and himself, Micky wasn't as graceful, and Peter heard a thunk as Micky hit the floor at the bottom of the stairs. A quick oath, and Micky was out the front door in about 10 seconds flat. Peter had to smile-Micky was a real trip.k

On his back with his hands folded behind his head, Peter daydreamed of Davy. And yes, Davy was a Daydream Believer. That song's title had always fit Davy to a T. Davy was a beautiful dreamer and an incurable romantic. He could see in his mind's eye the way Davy danced to that song when they had recorded it. Also, the way he danced to "She Hangs Out." Pure drool material! Watching Davy dance was always a treat.

Barely an hour went by before Peter heard the front door open, and someone coming up the stairs. _What the. . . ? What was this tonight, Grand Central Station?_

"I should be outta here!" he said loudly so the person approaching his door would hear. "I should be on that train and gone! I should be ridin' on that train to San Antoine. What'm I doing hangin' round?"

There was a giggle outside his door. Peter knew that giggle anywhere. The door opened and in walked Davy! "Pete you never cease to crack me up," he said. Peter thought he had never been so happy to see anyone in his entire life.

"David! What are you doing home? I thought you had a date."

"Oh, I did, I did. With a beautiful, charming, wonderful girl." Peter hated hearing those words. "But I just wasn't into it. I took her to dinner, but couldn't go on with it after that. I pleaded a headache and took her home. I feel bad about it, but I wanted to come home."

Peter had to laugh-he couldn't help it. "I pleaded a headache tonight too! But that was to get out of going to a club with Mick and Mike."

"Oh yes, great minds think alike," smiled Davy. "I would rather spend time with you."

Those words struck pure terror right along with pure jubilation at the same time in Peter's heart. Davy would rather be with _him_ than a beautiful, charming, wonderful girl?

Davy jumped right onto Peter's twin bed with him. Sure wasn't much room, but Davy didn't seem to mind at all, and Peter was in heaven. They both sat with their backs to the headboard, side by side. Peter wished they could sit even closer. Peter felt the heat of Davy right through his clothes and Davy's clean smell was heady.

"Micky came in here before he left and asked me what's been wrong with me lately," Peter said to fill in the silence.

"What did you say?"

"That I had a headache, which I'd already told him before. He kept after me_, like someone else I know,"_ Peter emphasized.

Davy smiled. "And did he say anything about me?" he asked.

"As a matter of fact, yes. He said you'd been acting weird too. He chaulked it up to you probably falling in love with that girl you went out with tonight."

"Well then, I guess we have him thrown off the track for awhile," was Davy's answer.

Peter wished to hell he knew what this was leading up to. The suspense was starting to disturb him.

Much later, after a lot of small talk about gigs, practice, ideas for songs, and what Mike and Micky were probably up to, they decided to turn in. Nothing serious or personal had been said tonight, but Peter didn't care. Just being this close to Davy and spending the time with him was plenty.

The lights went out, Davy went back to his own bed, and as they grew sleepy, Peter heard a very soft, beautiful voice in the bed next to him singing the last lyrics to "Early Morning Blues and Greens," a song that Davy and Peter sang harmony together.

_And I will drink my coffee slow_

_And I will watch my shadow grow_

_And disappear in firelight_

_And sleep alone again tonight._

The photo shoot was necessary, but Peter really didn't want to be there. These days, all he really wanted was time alone with Davy, and it was taking over his life. They had to keep changing clothes, getting their make-up retouched, and having their hair re-combed. Mike's hat would go on and come off, depending on what look the photographer was after.

Peter was so mesmerized by Davy's photo shoot that he was practically in a trance. Davy's beautiful smile, his hair, always so shiny, just gleaming in the studio lights, those white teeth and full lips. It was all just too much eye candy for Peter. His pants were feeling way, way too tight, and he knew why. He didn't notice Mike standing next to him for a good 10 minutes into Davy's shoot. That's when Mike spoke up.

"You think you can fool me?"

"What? Mike. . . I didn't know you were there."

"I know. You're too busy staring your eyes out at David."

Uh-oh, here it came.

"I've been watching _all_ the shoots," Peter tried defending himself, but he knew Mike had already seen his shameless gawking, and any argument would be futile. Mike knew. . . he almost certainly knew.

"You've always stared and smiled at David, and vice versa when we sing, but you've got stars in your eyes today, and we ain't singin.'

"Mike, I don't need this."

"You may not need it, but you've got it." Those words struck a chord in Peter. He'd _meant_ he didn't need Mike being nosy. But Mike was talking about something entirely different. Mike was talking about Peter's involvement with Davy. _Mental only _involvement, but involvement just the same.

"Has anything happened between you two?" Mike could be nearly as insistent as Davy when he had a mind to.

"No, of course not! I just like looking at him."

"Who doesn't?" Mike's words were so brutally honest that it shook Peter to his core. "But enjoying looking at someone, and having those stars in your eyes are two different things. And you've got those stars, my boy."

Mike slapped Peter on the back good naturedly and walked away. So that was Mike's way of telling him that he knew all about Peter's crush. Damn! It wouldn't be long now until the whole world knew. If just one word leaked out, they would be scandal material before they even made it big. Peter didn't want Davy to have to suffer that kind of humiliation or threat to his career. It was all his fault.

He had to stop it in its tracks, NOW.

Davy had just gotten out of the shower, and his hair was wet and uncombed. He was also bare to the waist and barefoot with nothing on but low cut jeans. Mike and Micky dared to hazard a sideways glance at each other when they saw Peter's reaction when Davy came around the corner, toweling his head vigorously. Peter had been talking animately with the other two, and he just stopped mid-sentence when Davy appeared.

Peter was suddenly completely oblivious to the other two Monkees in the room. Didn't even remember what he'd been talking about, nor did he care. His gaze was riveted on Davy, beads of water still clinging to and glistening on his shoulders, his bare chest... DAMN. Peter's conviction yesterday to put an end to this _obsession_ with his fellow band member and best friend flew right out the window. He felt his self control crumbling. He was finally admitting to himself that he was obsessed with David Jones. He was no different than the starry eyed girls who chased him, and probably cried themselves to sleep over him. He was no better.

Time seemed to stand still, everything ground into slow motion, like a record going from a 78 to a 45. Peter found himself slowly standing up, as if in a dream, floating strangely out of his own body, taking the towel away from a slightly startled Davy and taking over the job of ruffling his hair dry.

Mike and Micky now openly gawked at each other in open mouthed awe. They could scarcely believe what they were seeing. After drying Davy's hair for a couple of minutes, Peter slipped his comb out of his back pocket and began to comb Davy's hair, gently, relishing the baby soft feel of it in between his fingers. Feeling the health of it, the substance. Davy made no effort to move away, or even to draw back, away from Peter. If this is what Peter wanted, Davy decided to let himself enjoy it. And enjoy it, he did. Never did he dream he'd be aroused by a man. Davy, who had always been a true lady's man was now moldable putty in Peter's fingers. Davy knew these feelings well-he'd had them ever since his first kiss with his first girlfriend at age 14 and with countless ones afterward. There was no mistaking it-there was something electric between the two of them.

From within, Peter was fighting himself tooth and nail not to take Davy into his arms and hold him close, touch his lips to his neck . . . In fact, he was pretty darn sure he would have done it had not Mike and Micky been there. If he'd have had the nerve, he thought it might have really happened. And he didn't know if he were fooling himself or not, but he imagined, _dreamed _Davy would have let him. And tonight he was feeling in such a rare, uninhibited mood that he might have thrown all caution to the wind and kissed Davy. Yes. . . full on the mouth... Had Mike and Micky not been there. Even after he'd promised himself to put an end to this foolishness of a crush. Ah, but it was so much more than a crush.

He had to really give Davy credit for allowing him these liberties, but he also had a sneaking suspicion _why_ Davy was allowing it. Was it possible Davy could be having feelings for him as well? He'd thought Davy had only carried on as before in their friendship, even after he knew how Peter felt, because the friendship was just too precious, and also for public image, not to mention for the sake of Mike and Micky not finding out. But it was only too clear now that they had both failed miserably at that.

Peter realized he was boxing David in, leaving him no escape, and Peter knew that even as he continued to indulge himself with touching Davy's head just a bit too much as the comb continued to glide. He couldn't stop himself. He allowed the tips of his fingers to brush against Davy's neck as he combed the bottom of Davy's damp, straight hair. The slightest bit of a curl was forming in the hair at Davy's nape, and it drove Peter nearly mad. He _craved_ physical contact with David. That was why in certain pictures and videos of the group, Peter was often seen to be practically cuddling up to Davy, clearly enamoured with him. Years later Peter would look at those pictures and videos and realize how obvious he had been, without even knowing it. Anyone could see it, if they paid attention.

That night, as they dressed for bed, Davy diplomatically asked Peter why he had done that in front of the others.

"I'm. . . . not sure. Well, I _am_ sure. I couldn't. . .help myself."

Davy mulled this over, knit eyebrows and all. "Man, this stuff is scary, ya know."

"David, I was planning on talking to you tonight, and I'm glad you took the lead. This can't go on. We have a reputation-we're on our way to becoming a famous singing group. I don't want to blow that for you." There, he'd said it.

"For _me?_ You don't want to blow it for _me?_" Davy sounded incredulous. "You are just as vulnerable to speculation as I am. Petah, you amaze me with your selflessness."

"Okay, for both of us, then. Even for Micky and Mike. If people started saying things about us, it would reflect badly on them too. Thing is, Davy, I can't do this to you, me or the others. I'd feel terrible if we got a bad rap due to scandal."

"But. . . Petah. . . what have you, or the two of us, done wrong? Nothing, that I can see."

"My _feelings_, David! Did you forget about that? I'm. . . afraid I'll lose control. Being this close to you and not being able to touch you or. . . show how I feel is _killing _me! Its killing me! What I need, David, is far more than physical." Peter didn't realize his voice was getting louder and louder. "And on top of that, I don't think you're feeling the same thing I am. To you its a close friendship. To me, its. . . well, more."

Davy didn't dare mention the feelings he'd had tonight when Peter had dried and combed his hair. It could very well turn things into an uncontrollable spin, and Peter would suffer even more, knowing his feelings were being mirrored. This was not something to mess around with. It was a real threat, even if it was just lust. So he decided it was best not to even hint at it.

"Listen, Petah. I understand. I'll do whatever you want."

"Thanks, David." It was with a very heavy heart that felt like a lump of dough that Peter turned off the light, said good night to Davy, got into bed, and tried to go to sleep, only to stay awake for many hours. What he didn't know was that David also lay wide awake.

**CHAPTER FIVE**

When Peter finally drifted off to a fitful sleep around 3am, all he did was dream of holding and kissing Davy. Did Davy have any idea of the affect he had on Peter? It didn't matter-somehow Peter had to work out how he was going to get over Davy. He knew the best way would be to stay completely away from Davy-not see or talk to him. He even thought momentarily of leaving the Monkees, but of course, that would be a stupid, drastic move, considering how famous they were becoming. Foolhardy. How he wished he knew of a way to gain immunity from Davy's charms.

"All right, Pete. Micky and I are a bit disturbed by your strange mood and actions lately," said Mike, the Voice of Reason (as they sometimes called him). "What's up with you and the Manchester Cowboy?"

There was no point in even denying it after what Mike and Micky had seen with the Davy- fresh-out-of-the-shower scene, so Peter didn't even make an effort.

"Its something I'm going to work out myself, Mike. Just a bit of a crush. You know... these things happen sometimes in the business." Mike didn't look impressed with Peter's lame explanation.

"Look, Pete. Its none of my business, and I don't blame you if you tell me to go screw myself, but what I saw is more than just a crush. You had goo-goo eyes, Shotgun."

Peter would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so serious. He was reminded instantly that Mike was one smart, observant cookie. He was not easily fooled. Peter shrugged helplessly.

"If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. But there's more than simple desire there. Micky even said he saw it in your eyes. You've got it bad, man." Mike walked away, slowly shaking his head, leaving Peter alone. Peter knew Mike well enough to know that he could always go to him, and Mike was leaving the door open for that. He wouldn't tell anyone else about their short talk either. Not even Micky. Somehow that was comforting in the midst of this rotten, frustrating nightmare.

In the weeks that followed, Peter and Davy acted as normal as they possibly could so as not to attract attention at gigs or around anyone that could have an influence on their career. They still smiled at each other. They just didn't hold the eye contact as long as they used to, or get as close physically either. Davy tried to, but Peter, although he didn't indicate it physically, was distant in a way Davy picked up on.

Sitting around at home, watching a movie like they so often did, Davy would semi-cuddle up to Peter on the couch like old times, and since Peter couldn't move away without the others noticing, he allowed it. Davy wasn't breaking any rules, after all. He was just acting the way they had always acted together. Peter thought he'd die a slow torturous death when Davy would sit so close that their shoulders touched, or snuggle under Peter's chin where Peter could smell the fresh shampoo scent of his hair, and his own signature scent that was more delicious than any other scent in the world. Peter knew Davy was trying to signal him that he still cared as much for him as ever. And this made it hurt even more.

He still didn't know if Davy felt anything for him like what he felt for Davy, because, so far, not a word about it had come from Davy's lips, but even though Peter was not as intuitive as Davy, he could _feel_ something different in Davy's touch. Davy would gently grasp his arm discreetly, casually throwing it in at just the right moment so people wouldn't be suspicious. Devious Davy-being a good actor, he could get away with it. Peter felt the tenderness in that touch as if it were something alive. And that was exactly what Davy's aim was-to let Peter know he was there for him, no matter what.

Peter wondered what Davy's response would have been that night if Peter _had _actually taken him into his arms. Davy might have round house punched him, for all he knew. He and Davy had had a couple pretty rough disagreements in the past, and one time it had come to blows. Peter still felt bad about that. But damn it, the little sucker had hit him first! He could just imagine Davy and he duking it out, and then trying to explain the next day to people why they both had black eyes. He had to giggle to himself as he thought about it. Davy might be short, but boy, was he a scrapper when the situation called for it.

David was miserable. Mainly because he knew _Peter_ was miserable. He hated hurting anyone, even though it wasn't intentional. Sometimes he thought it was all his fault, and other times he thought Peter was doing it to himself by running away from his feelings.

But all he could do was wait, and hope that some day Peter would stop giving a crap about what other people thought. So what if there was gossip, speculation? If nothing else, it was good publicity for the group! Although, publicity was the very _last_ thing on his mind when he was close to Peter. Peter was the only important thing in his mind at those moments. These were just arguments that were going through his head that he could use to try to convince Peter that they should just be natural, and whatever happened, would happen. But it also scared the shit out of him. He had no experience with being with a man. He didn't know if Peter had either, although he doubted it. Not with all the girls the both of them used to have hanging around. Now it seemed they were both so hung up on each other that girls just no longer appealed that much to them. They didn't have the history or the foundation with the girls that they had with each other. And Davy sometimes also wondered what Mike and Micky were thinking.

He had all the time in the world, though. He was young, Peter was young, and the world was young. He was in no hurry. And as for touching Peter, well, he'd done that literally thousands of times, as Peter had to him. It was just more intimate things that spooked him. Kissing was as far as he'd ventured in his mind, but he had no idea what it would be like to kiss a man. To kiss Peter...

Damn that Davy, anyhow! Damn him to hell! He was doing it again. They were doing a recording session, and Davy kept giving Peter that arresting half-smile that he was so famous for. Mouth slightly open, those full lips that were the most kissable looking lips on the planet-pure perfection. Then the half-smiles turned into his even-more-famous full smiles, to where he was simply _beaming_ at Peter. Peter was afraid that one day Davy would actually induce him to orgasm, just by smiling at him. Actually, it wouldn't surprise Peter at all.

Okay, two can play at this game. Peter surrendered, and smiled back at Davy, and it was instant magic. Old times were back in the space of a heartbeat. They were having _fun, _the kind of fun that makes you catch your breath. That connection they had, the beauty and rhythm of the music thrumming through their veins, making the connection even stronger. The hair stood up on the back of Peter's neck. He felt as if sparks were catapulting off his guitar and onto Davy. In that moment, they had it all. And it was a moment Peter didn't want to ever have to give up. He wanted it stamped and saved in his memory until the day he died. He knew he'd play it over and over in his mind for eternity.

Those wonderful smiles and true emotion showed up on the video of "You Just May Be the One," written and sung by Michael Nesmith. All you had to do was view that video, and you couldn't fail to see the bond Davy and Peter had-the rare kind of love between two band members that could be nothing less than magic. Peter somehow knew that they had only scratched the surface of the magic that was possible.

The smell got Peter's attention the second he opened the door to the pad. It permeated the entire place. Pot. Good stuff too, if he were to judge it by smell.

The Monkeemobile was out front, which were the wheels Micky had used today, so Peter didn't have to do any guessing. He peeked around the hallway door to spy Micky's bedroom door was open. Thick smoke filled the hallway. Peter swam through it to Micky's room.

"God, Mick! How much of that shit have you smoked?" One look at Micky's lop sided grin through a oppressive curtain of smoke told the story. Naturally goofy to begin with, Micky was easily ten times worse when under the influence of weed. Eyes mere slits, Micky motioned Peter into the room. At least Micky was mellow this time, not bouncing off the walls as he sometimes did in the early stages of getting buzzed. This meant he'd been at it for a while.

"Share with me?" Micky said in a slow monotone that told Peter he was about as mellow as Micky was capable of ever being.

Peter shrugged his shoulders. "Why not?" He plopped down on Mike's bed and took the roach that Micky offered him, inhaling deeply. Maybe, by some miracle, it would help him to stop thinking about Davy if only for just a little while.

Peter looked around the room. Mike and Micky had traded bedrooms with Peter and Davy, mainly because Peter and Davy were masters at the bannister sliding. It was safer for them to be on the top floor. Mike was too dignified to do much sliding, but Micky kept trying, even though he fell more often than he succeeded in landing easily and light as a feather like Davy and Peter did.

The contrast between Mike and Micky's sides of the room was striking. Mike's side was very neat and orderly. The desk and chair were well dusted, the floor clean and clear of clutter, everything was in its place, and his bed was neatly made.

Micky's side was the extreme opposite. Small piles of clothes here and there, thrown helter skelter, having landed wherever gravity took them. The TV screen was dusty-Peter could see that even from 10 feet away. Micky's bed was still rumpled, with sheets and blankets dragging the floor, having not been made today, or probably yesterday either.

The lighting was too dim, another testament to Micky's talent for low wattage. Then the thought occurred to Peter for the first time-_maybe Micky did it on purpose. _ All the better for Micky when he was trying to seduce a girl on the couch. Then, when they reached the bedroom, the subdued lighting in there was probably also giving Micky an advantage. The dirty dog!

Peter couldn't get over the fact that he'd felt a little high even before he took his first drag-there was that much smoke in the room. Micky started humming "Last Train to Clarksville," and smiled benignly in Peter's direction.

"Pretty good shit, isn't it?"

"Yep," Peter was no novice pot smoker, but this stuff was even making _him_ feel really out of it, really fast. Judging from how much pot was sitting on Micky's endtable, Peter realized they could probably get the whole neighborhood high in no time flat, if they were so inclined.

Time seemed to creep, as it sometimes did when Peter smoked. He looked at the clock after what seemed at least an hour, to see that only 7 minutes had gone by. Micky was now crunching loudly on some chips-he always had the munchies when high.

Peter felt a bit as if he were in a dream state, slightly suspended over the bed. That was when he realized he'd had too much. He'd lost track of how many drags he'd taken, but he knew that if he smoked any more, he'd be slit eyed like Micky, and then Davy would come home and see what he'd been up to.

Peter strolled into the bathroom, gazed at Micky's toothpaste seeping from the tube on the counter, water spots all over the mirror and a sopping wet towel draped over the toilet.  
One look in the mirror was all it took-his eyes looked just like Micky's. Great. Davy got high sometimes, but he never did it to the point to where he looked like this. Now Davy was going to think less of him. Damn it! Why was he even worried what Davy would think, anyway?

It was half an hour later when Mike got home and discovered Peter and Micky after wading through a seemingly endless fog of smoke, Peter on his bed singing "Auntie Griselda" and Micky out cold, snoring loudly.

"How in hell am I supposed to sleep in this room?" was all that came from Mike's lips as he pondered the blissful, oblivious look on Peter's face.

"Really, Pete. Do you _have_ to do that on _my _bed? His voice sounded slightly exasperated. "At least go do it in your own room." With that, he ushered Peter out of the room and directed him toward the stairs.

David _had_ to have smelled the smoke when he came in, but he gave no indication of it. Peter heard him come in, undress, and slip into his bed. Davy never even asked if Peter were awake, which he'd pretty much done ever since the boys had lived in the pad. Uh-oh, was Peter's last thought as he drifted off again into dream land.

Peter's premonition was right. There was hell to pay the next day, Sunday. It was 6am, and Peter was sleeping soundly. Out of the silence came a clear, wide awake voice. "Pete, do you know what you did last night?"

Peter struggled to awaken and concentrate on what was being said. Oh god. All he remembered was Mike sending him to his room, him getting into bed, and Davy coming in later and getting into his own bed. Nothing else. What had he done? Christ, hoped he hadn't come on to Davy or something. . .

"You left a trail of fuckin' potato chips all over the floor! I stepped on them in my _bare feet_!" Davy said it as if it were the worst crime in the world. His eyes were smoldering. Peter didn't remember eating any of Micky's potato chips, could have sworn he didn't, and was prepared to take Davy to Micky's room and show him the evidence if necessary. Potato chips must surely be all over Micky's bed and between the sheets as well. "They were _all over_ the stairs!" finished Davy. "The racket was just bloody awful!"

"The racket was awful?" Peter was bewildered.

"Yeah, I was drunk, and starting to get a hangover, and you know how loud potato chip crunching can be when you're in that condition."

"What? You were drunk?"

"Yeah, I went to the park and drank all day. By the time I got home I was getting a killer hangover headache, and what happens? I come into a house that _reeks_ of pot, and by the way, it smelled like really good stuff, and then I take off my shoes and sit on the couch for a few minutes to try to muster the energy to climb the stairs, then when I'm ready, I get up and come upstairs in my bare feet, and step on fuckin' _potato chips_!"

Whoa! That kind of outburst told Pete Davy _had_ to be steaming mad. Peter squinted in his direction in time to see Davy trying desperately to contain his giggles-those infectious giggles that couldn't be ignored. Whew! For a minute there, Peter had thought all hell was going to break loose.

When Davy finally caught his breath, he said, "It wasn't funny _at all _then. _God,_ but I was mad. But when I think of it now. . . in the state I was in, it sounded like a forest of tree trunks being snapped right in half. I can't stay mad because its too bloody funny!" He started laughing again, but came to an abrupt stop. Peter noticed his face looked green. "Oh god, my achin' head. I think I'm gonna be sick."

Davy scurried to the bathroom faster than anyone with a hangover should be capable of. A few minutes later, when he emerged, he said, "Well, I made it to the loo in time. I'm not _touching_ those potato chips though. That's _your _responsibility." With that, Davy climbed back into his bed, pulled the covers over his head and was asleep again within minutes.

Peter could have sworn he hadn't even _eaten_ any of Micky's potato chips, much less strewn them all over the stairs. But there they were. . . it was noon, and, of course, no one had magically cleaned them up, as Peter had hoped would be the case. Davy had certainly not exaggerated. A million crumbs smashed by Davy's feet lay on each and every step, all the way up to their bedroom.

Davy sliced a murderous glare at Peter as he descended the stairs ahead of Peter, delicately avoiding the crumbs with each step. An hour later, Dust Buster in hand, Peter finally finished sucking up the last crumb.

"Micky did it, I know he did," he said for the twentieth time. Micky was still asleep. "He was the one eating them. I never touched a single one."

"Yeah, right." Davy sat on the couch with his head in his hands, a cup of strong black coffee and a bottle of aspirin on the coffee table in front of him.

"By the way, why were you drinking in the park yesterday?" Peter suddenly remembered their early morning talk.

"Oh, that," said Davy, as if he'd forgotten. I was. . . . confused, I guess."

"About what?"

"Petah, let's leave this for later."

"What?" You mean you think I'm gonna let you not talk about it? How about how pushy you were with me about 'talking about things?' Do you think I'll let you get away with it? When you tortured me like you did?"

"At least give me until my hangover's gone, Pete. Show me some mercy."

"Okay, but just until your hangover's gone."

"We just have _got_ to get this potato chip deal straightened out," said Peter a couple of hours later.

Michael looked up from the newspaper he was reading. "Potato chip deal?"

"Yeah, Micky was eating potato chips last night and somehow _I'm_ the one who got blamed for them ending up all over the stairs."

"There were potato chips on the stairs?"

"Yeah, Mike. Didn't you see them? They were kinda hard to miss," added Davy. "There were like hundreds of them. And I must have stepped on every one of them."

Micky was strangely silent. Too silent.

"So what's the story? Sounds like I gotta hear this one." Mike put the newspaper down. He must have been desperate for entertainment.

"Well, Micky and I got high in your room, and Micky started eating potato chips," explained Peter.

"Yes, I know about that part, unfortunately," said Mike. "And by the way, that pot smelled like pretty good stuff. But anyway, I only saw a bunch of crumbs, that is, an _astounding _amount of crumbs, on Micky's bed this morning. After that I went outside and washed my car, didn't even look at the stairs."

"Well," continued Peter. "When you kicked me out of your room, I went upstairs to bed, and Davy, who was drunk and on the verge of a hangover, came home and came up the stairs. . . barefoot, mind you, and stepped on all the potato chips and got royally _PISSED_ at me. He even used language he normally reserves for serious temper tantrums. Cuz I guess he _was_ having a temper tantrum. At 6 o'clock this morning, too!"

"Did you have to mention the part about me being drunk?" Davy looked miserable.

"Oops." By the time Peter realized his slip-up, it was too late.

"Why was Davy drunk?" This time Micky spoke up.

"That's a long story," said Davy quickly.

"Anyway, _someone_ is responsible for those potato chips on the stairs," remarked Peter, casting Micky a sidelong glance.

"Okay, okay, so I thought it would be funny to sprinkle them over the stairs." Whew, Micky was finally owning up to it. Peter was relieved.

"_SPRINKLE _them over the stairs? How about _POURING _a whole bag on the stairs? I've never seen so many potato chips in my entire life! And then you go and get Peter in trouble, because _I_ thought it was _him_!" Davy was getting upset again.

"And he yelled at me," said Peter, as if no one had heard it the first time he'd said it.

"And you owe me big, Mick. I Dust Busted all those crumbs myself," said Peter.

"Okay, I'll make it up to you. Let's all get stoned on the pot I have left. Make a party of it tonight. Remember, we have tomorrow off."

Tomorrow was the fourth of July.

"Well, I guess that's all right," said Peter grudgingly.

"Why did you get drunk in the park yesterday, David?" Peter wasn't about to let Davy off the hook. Davy would never have let _him_ off the hook. It was late afternoon and Davy finally felt well enough to eat some soup and crackers. They were alone. Micky and Mike were both taking naps in preparation for their little pot party tonight.

"I had things I had to think over," was Davy's reply.

"That's not good enough."

"Okay then, I was thinking about you and me, and how you said you're attracted to me." Davy's face started to turn red. In turn, Peter's face did the same. He felt the heat creeping right up his neck and flushing his face with every heartbeat. Peter didn't know what to say. This subject never stopped embarrassing him. In fact, it got worse every time.

Silence. Finally, "I wondered where you were all day."

"Yeah, I drank from 10 am to about 8pm."

Peter whistled long and low. "That's a lotta drinking."

"Yeah, you're tellling me. Well, I headed home at about 10, and that's when the hangover headache started in earnest. I'm sorry I blamed you for the potato chips too, Petah. I was so mad that I didn't dare even speak to you until morning."

"And why did you decide to do it at 6am?"

"Because I knew you'd be really enjoying your slumber the most about that time."

Peter nodded. It made sense.

"So, what did you come up with?" Peter couldn't believe how bold he was being.

"While I was drinking? I came up with you're a man, I'm a man, and we're good friends. There's to be no monkey business here, Pete." _Or did he mean Monkee business?_

"How original." Peter wasn't sure if Davy were simply making a joke, or if there was an underlying warning there. He decided he didn't want to know.

**CHAPTER SIX**

They all ended up in Mike and Micky's room again, as no one wanted Micky to fall down the stairs if he got the munchies and had to hit the kitchen, which they all knew was going to happen.

Peter and Davy got stuck with Micky's bed. Davy was astonished that Micky hadn't even bothered to brush off the ground-in crumbs. He frantically brushed the smashed chips to the floor before sitting down. They all sat Indian style at first. That didn't last long, however. Before more than fifteen minutes went by, none of them could remain upright.

"Wow!" Was the first word out of Mike's mouth after he took his first hit. "This stuff _is_ as good as it smells! This is where its at."

"From what I've heard, that's been the general consensus around here," said Davy. "Except that Mike and I didn't have the luxury of trying it last night. We had to make do with just smelling it."

At least pot didn't give you a hangover, thought Davy, and for that, he was immensely grateful. He couldn't have faced two mornings like that in a row. He was _still _a bit shaky from this morning.

Everyone was getting extremely laid back. And that was an understatement. Micky and Mike reclined on opposite ends of Mike's bed, feet to head, and stared at the ceiling. Davy, Peter noticed, was propped against the headboard like he'd been the other night, so Peter did the same. Being that close to Davy felt like a rare treat that one had to grab quickly, and then savor for as long as possible.

Davy was painfully cute when stoned, reflected Peter. Of course, Peter couldn't remember a single moment Davy _wasn't_ painfully cute. His accent thickened the same as it did when he was excited about something. He giggled a lot more, but _best of all, _he got very loving. He constantly wanted to be touching Peter, and his cuddling habit was even more pronounced than usual.

Peter didn't quite know what to do. The very last thing he wanted to do was discourage Davy, but Mike and Micky were only four feet away. _Man, was there no mercy for him?_

Peter was careful not to smoke too much, for fear it would completely strip away his inhibitions. The pot was making him feel affectionate too. But he was a more experienced smoker than Davy was, so it was affecting Davy much harder and quicker than it would have affected Peter, had they smoked the same amount. Peter took care not to take the deep drags he'd taken last night. No one noticed, as they were all too high to pay attention. But, Peter thought to himself, Mike and Micky certainly weren't too high to see Davy taking every opportunity he could to make bodily contact with Peter.

Davy leaned over Peter in order to grab his glass of water from the nightstand repeatedly, complaining of the pot drying out his mouth, and when he did, he pressed his torso up against Peter's chest a lot more than was necessary. Of course, after he'd had his drink, he had to lean over Peter _again _to put the glass back. Peter was sure he was going to lose his mind if this didn't stop soon. Its not easy to conceal an erection when you're in your pajamas, and Peter realized he should have left his jockey underwear on. But it was upstairs, and he could think of no excuse he could give to go up there. If he kept adjusting himself, someone would notice sooner or later.

"Gosh, its a little drafty in here," he said lamely, pulling back Micky's sheets, and being instantly barraged with yet more potato chip crumbs. Batting at them, he covered himself up to the waist. There, that was better. It was anything but cold in the room, but everyone was too stoned to comment, or even care.

Davy's hand was resting on Peter's arm, and if Peter hadn't known better, he would have sworn Davy didn't even know it was there. Slowly, ever so slowly, Peter became aware that not only was it resting there, but that it was _moving. _So slowly at first that Peter thought it might be his imagination, or the pot giving him that idea. But no, when he looked down out of the corner of his eye, he saw, with no doubt whatsoever, that Davy's hand was caressing his arm ever so slowly. Insidious little Brit! Simultaneous horror and delight hit him. Delight because it felt so blissfully good, so erotic, even, horror because Mike and Micky could notice at any time if they looked over. It was the arm opposite the other bed, but still. . . the feeling was the strangest one Peter had ever had. Amazing how such a simple thing could be so sexually stimulating. He wanted so much to be alone with David, give back that affection, but at the same time being so much aware of the other two so close by. Pure torture.

He was just glad Davy wasn't also under the covers, as he knew he wouldn't be able to bear feeling any more of Davy's body up against him. The sharp edge of a potato chip digging into his thigh helped somewhat.

Having no idea of how much time had gone by, Peter noticed Mike was asleep, arms crossed at his chest, wool hat twisted comically on his head, a soft snore escaping his open mouth. Micky suddenly vaulted up and headed for the door.

"Hungry," he mumbled.

In the short time Micky was gone, Peter looked down at Davy, who was a bit scrunched down, now, still sitting beside Peter, but markedly more relaxed. He had graduated to softly tickling the sensitive inside of Peter's elbow with his fingers. Peter's stomach clenched, desire twisting his gut, causing Peter to grind his teeth together in a gargantuan effort to keep his hands off Davy.

"David! Stop it! That tickles." An out and out lie, it was. It didn't tickle, it _turned him on._ Made him shudder with the effort of constantly having to resist temptation for what had seemed like hours. He should be given a medal for this. He could not wait to get back to their room and give David a tongue lashing for tempting him so. But he knew he'd never have the nerve to do that. The throbbing he felt below the waist was a big nuisance, but that wasn't the worst of it. The very worst was his incredible desire to just hold and kiss David. He was convinced he could do it for hour after hour. . . oh god, when was this going to end?

**CHAPTER SIX**

When Micky showed up with a package of donuts, Peter grabbed that as a perfect excuse to end the evening. At least for the four of them together.

"Nope, not happening, Mick. No more crumbs. And to save you from Mike's wrath, we'll let you have your bed back so you can add the donut crumbs to the chip crumbs."

"But the evening is still young," argued Micky through a mouthful of chocolate donut, little wet pieces of donut escaping his mouth in a spray as he spoke. A piece hit Davy, which only helped Peter's case.

"I agree-back to our room," and Davy was gone. Just that fast. The little twerp could move pretty quickly for being as stoned as he had to have been. Peter did notice that, on his way up the stairs, Davy was watching carefully for crumbs as he walked. Maybe he wasn't _quite _as stoned as he was letting on. . . . hmmmm.

Peter's heart went into fifth gear as soon as Davy closed the door-and plopped down on _Peter's_ bed! If Davy hadn't noticed his mistake, there was no way in hell Peter was going to correct him. Peter just casually also sat down on his bed, next to Davy, being careful not to reveal anything on his face. _Is he really that stoned?_ Peter wondered once again. Or is he playing more games with me like he did on Micky's bed?

Immediately Davy started cuddling again. _This is gonna be the death of me_, Peter thought. While Peter wanted Davy wildly, he wouldn't know what to _do _with him once he _got _him. If he could even _get_ him, he reminded himself, since that was highly questionable. That wouldn't have bothered him too much though. He'd just play it by ear, the way he'd learned to play his guitar. But the thing that really worried him was that he didn't want anything to happen between them _tonight._

Number one, he didn't want to take advantage of Davy. Not in any way. Anything that happened, if it ever did, had to happen when Davy was stone cold sober. And here we came to number two. Peter _himself_ didn't want any drug or alcohol influencing him either. He didn't want to take the slightest chance of even the tiniest slice of memory taken from him. Not even any fogginess. He wanted to recall everything with perfect clarity. If ever something should happen between them, Peter did not want it marred in any way. There was also a possibility Davy could possibly end up close to Peter because of a lack of inhibitions caused by the pot, be regretful afterward, and it would never happen again. No, being totally sober was the only way. Even if they were to be intimate only once, Peter would at least have the memory.

They had a conversation that made very little sense. Davy giggled, jumping from subject to subject, forgetting to finish sentences at times, then bursting into laughter, but never touching on their friendship, or Peter's crush on him. Peter didn't pay very close attention to the conversation, as he was too busy willing himself not to respond to Davy's attentions. Davy didn't do anything bad-he just wanted to lean into Peter and talk. But even that was _way, way _too much for Peter.

Luck was with him, as Davy started to slide off into sleep not long after that. Peter figured it was easier to join 'em, rather than try to beat 'em, and he slumped into a half sitting, half prone position against his pillows, up against the headboard, and reached over to flick out the light. Davy's head had come to rest on Peter's chest, his arms eventually wrapping around Peter's waist right before he'd drifted off to sleep. Kind of the way Peter had seen Davy hug his pillow. Peter wrapped his arms loosely around Davy's shoulders, and just let his mind wander where it would, which was heavenly, as he was fantasizing about Davy and holding Davy close to him at the same time. Something that had never been possible before. His head was light from the pot, and eventually he went to sleep.

Sometime during the night, when it was still dark outside, Peter awoke to find Davy still in the same position with Peter's arms still around him. Peter scooched down a little more so that they were both practically lying down, then he saw Davy's neck in the soft light, and couldn't help but touch the nape very lightly with his fingers. So soft, with Davy's hair brushing over his knuckles, his love beads rattling slightly. Peter became instantly aroused again, but just held Davy close, so grateful for this night. If nothing ever happened between them, he'd at least have this night. Davy's soft breath caused a slight breeze that ruffled the hairs on Peter's arm and sent chills all over Peter's body. Peter ever-so-softly kissed the top of Davy's head before going back to sleep.

Morning came way too quickly for Peter. Davy stirred slightly. Peter, still half awake, as he'd been watching the top of Davy's head and drifting in and out for the last half hour, shifted his body ever so slightly to help Davy get comfortable. He had no idea what Davy's reaction might be when he woke up draped over Peter, his head on Peter's chest. Anything from more affection to outright rage was possible. He steeled himself for it.

After stirring a few more times, Davy lifted his head and looked around the room. Peter didn't move, and neither did Davy. Davy's arms stayed around Peter's waist, and Peter's arms stayed around Davy's shoulders. They were so close that Peter felt him stop breathing for a few seconds. "What the . . . " Davy trailed off, then slowly, carefully, leaned back and looked up into Peter's face. "Oh, sorry mate. Didn't mean to fall asleep on you like that last night," he said so casually that he made it sound like it happened on a regular basis. Peter wished for the second time that Davy wasn't such an accomplished actor.

"Look out, here comes tomorrow," Davy threw in. "Except that its already here."

Davy hauled himself stiffly out of bed. With regret, Peter let his arms fall back off Davy. "Must have stayed in the same position all night, yeah?"

Then Davy disappeared into the bathroom, but not before Peter saw the color rising in his face. As Peter heard the shower being turned on, he imagined Davy in there, naked, preparing to step into the shower. All right, enough was enough. When Peter heard the shower curtain being pulled shut, and knew Davy was concealed behind it, he slipped into the bathroom, splashed water on his face, combed his hair, brushed his teeth, and promptly left. He could only take so much stimulation without following up on it, so he dressed and left the pad without a word to anyone.

I've had enough, and I just can't take anymore." This declaration caught Davy's attention like a rifle shot. Soft spoken Peter didn't generally make announcements like this. Peter was a very gentle, peaceful soul, very opposed to conflict or adversity. Or even a whole lot of assertiveness. Confrontations were not his bag, so Davy perked up his ears and listened. Peter had pulled Davy into their bedroom soon after the group had started to watch a movie. To hell with Micky and Mike-Peter had to get this off his chest.

"Can't take what?" Davy's voice was soft as butter as he contemplated what might be bothering Peter enough for this very uncharacteristic outburst.

"Your lovey-dovey, snuggly stuff. David, you're tormenting me! And I don't think you even know it." Peter's voice had lost its hardness. Only a soft pleading remained. Davy's heart contracted when he looked into those deep brown, ever changing eyes. All he saw was sincerity.

Davy was floored. It had been this way mere months, and certainly less than a year from the very beginning of their adventure together as the Monkees. He and Peter had hit it off almost immediately, and Peter had never offered any objection to Davy's natural desire to be physically close to him.

It might have happened for the first time when they'd had a few too many beers, but it had come about so gradually in the beginning that now it just felt right to Davy. Peter was like a big teddy bear, and since he had seemed to enjoy it, Davy had continued to do it. Micky was very hands-off except for rough play, like wrestling or play boxing, and Mike, well, Mike was too sophisticated to indulge in such things. Besides, Peter was the one who matched Davy most in temperament. Gentle, sensitive, and an affectionate manner was just second nature to the both of them. They had a real connection. So why was Peter suddenly casting him away after all this time?

Then, like a blow, it dawned on Davy that Peter thought of it as teasing. How could he have been so dim-witted?

Davy immediately gave himself a mental dressing down. Selfish-how could he have been so selfish? He should have listened to Peter's silent, and some not-so-silent pleas that he'd been sending to Davy for weeks. There had been so many of them that Davy was amazed how he hadn't gotten the message sooner. Well, he actually had, but he supposed he hadn't wanted to face it. He was in denial, perhaps. Peter had feelings for him, and Davy always cozying up to him was causing him great anxiety. . . because Peter wanted more. Well then, Davy realized he was to blame, and he had to set things right. He had to be fair to Peter. _He just hadn't wanted things to change._

Davy picked his words carefully. This wasn't going to be easy. And this time, there was no running away from it with the suggestion of discussing it later. It was something that he'd been putting off for way too long, mulling it over in the back of his mind. He was realizing how much had been subconscious on his part.

"You're right, Pete. You've been trying to be nice while at the same time you were trying to give me signals that it was too much for you. I was just trying to keep things the way they've always been between us. But I guess now. . . . now that you have these. . . feelings, its not appropriate for me to do that anymore. The dynamics have changed. I need to stop."

Peter felt as if a block of ice were melting in his stomach. He struggled to breathe. He'd _had _to say something. Either that, or he would have gone off the deep end. And he'd thought long and hard about exactly _what_ he would say. He'd needed to find out if Davy returned his feelings, or if Davy was not interested. Now, all of a sudden he didn't _want_ to hear what Davy was working toward. Was Davy saying what he _thought_ he was saying? Was this it? . . Was it going to come out now? The truth? Terror overtook him. He didn't know if he could handle the truth. But he'd made this move, and now he had to face whatever came out of it. There was no backing out now.

_Be as gentle as you possibly can,_ Davy reminded himself. _Peter deserves it_. He took a deep breath, cleared his throat and cupped his chin in his hand, avoiding Peter's gaze, and stared at the floor. "Pete, I do love you as a band member and much more than that. I see you as the brother I never had. Our friendship means. . . well, you know what it means. It can't be put into words. We both feel it. But . . . I don't think I could feel the same way you feel about me. I don't think. . . . I could. . . reciprocate those feelings. I've never. . . been with a man."

Peter was taken aback sharply by Davy's words. He felt the walls closing in. Suddenly, he just wanted to get away. He didn't want to hear what Davy was saying. It had come down to this. . . at last. And now he couldn't face it. Davy was giving him the brush-off.

Peter just looked at Davy helplessly, unable to say a single word. Davy's heart sunk down into his boots. Sweet, kind, considerate Peter-he'd hurt him, and it was only just now that he saw how _deeply_. Why hadn't he realized before how serious this was? The very last thing in the world Davy would ever _dream_ of doing, was to hurt Peter. But it was too late now. It was all out on the table, the blow had been dealt, and there was nothing he could do to soften it.

"Okay, David," was all Peter could force out, as he felt like he was actually going to cry. His throat was tight and he could feel the sobs building up in his chest. It was at that moment that his worst fear was realized. Christ, he must be in love with Davy!

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

When Peter finally found his voice, after gulping down the tears, wringing his hands and pacing back and forth for several minutes, he whirled in Davy's direction, "Why did you lead me on like that?"

Peter's voice was cracking and Davy knew why. Peter had not been playing games all this time. It wasn't harmless flirting-Peter was in agony, and it was because of his selfishness. Davy felt his heart cracking, threatening to shatter.

"Pete. . . . I didn't mean to play with your feelings. Its not how it appears. I wouldn't be that cruel. You do know that, don't you Pete? Haven't we known each other long enough?"

Peter suddenly felt drained and deflated, so he sat down on the bed, carefully putting distance between himself and Davy. "How could this have happened?" He was thinking aloud.

"You took my cuddling to mean more than it did. But what I can't understand is, its been happening for at least a year, and there was never a problem with it before."

"But you read my journal! Why do you insist on continuing with all that affection toward me when you _know _ how I feel about you?"

"I just wanted things to stay the same. You and I have a special friendship. Who'd want to give that up? But looking back, I see how you must have taken it in the wrong way."

"We've already talked about it. You're more than aware of the effect you have on me. Hell, I didn't know what to do with my feelings. _I've_ never been with a man before either. I was groping around in the dark."k Peter thought back over some of their more confusing moments-now, thanks to this mortifying conversation, not confusing at all. Maybe he'd been fooling himself right from the very start. "I should have known, when you would never come out and tell me how you felt, that you didn't feel the same way. I should have known the day you told me there'd be no monkey business."

"Yes, I suppose I was trying to get the message across subtly."

"Subtly?" He couldn't help it-he laughed. It was a bitter, incredulous sound-because, after all, even if he _had_ been fooling himself, Davy sure hadn't gone out of his way to try and enlighten him. As a matter of fact, even with all his _subtle_ messages, the way he'd danced around expressing his true feelings-sometimes he'd behaved in a way that Peter found impossible to read as anything other than _encouraging._

"Then when you were all over me, pressing against me, running your fingers all over my arm when we were in Mick and Mike's room, then on _top_ of that, you ended up in my bed last night, what was I supposed to think? Were you really that stoned? Or were you testing the waters a little bit?"

"I've thought about that too, and the best I can come up with is I guess maybe the real me was coming out when I was stoned."

_Oh boy, that did it._ _How much can one person take? _Peter was at the very end of his patience.

"Goddamn it, David! What are you trying to do to me? You're going back and forth on me, can't you see what you're doing?" Peter flopped down on the bed like a rag doll. "I can't take this anymore."

"Look, I don't want to hurt you. That's my number one concern here. I'm just trying to figure out some things in my own head. I honestly don't know if I was just playing around when I was stoned, or if I was following up on something that I might have pushed aside for all this time. Letting it out a bit, ya know? Actually, I have never tried to be affectionate with either Micky or Mike. Even before I knew they wouldn't have dug it. Petah, please forgive me! Here I am, rattling on, and making no sense. And I've been stringing you along without realizing that just acting like I've always acted with you was making things harder for you."

"Let's go watch the damn movie and stop talking. The more we talk, the more confused I get. Thanks to you, I now have even _less_ idea of what is up and what is down. " Peter started to walk out the door. Davy followed him. They watched the movie with the others in silence, Davy making sure he kept at least six inches between himself and Peter.

If you had asked Peter what the movie was about, he wouldn't have been able to answer you. One minute he was nursing his throbbing heart, and the next he was fuming. The reasonable side of him knew Davy hadn't intentionally hurt him. But he also felt Davy had been sending him mixed messages ever since he'd read Peter's journal.

On the other hand, Davy _had_ told Peter that he thought Peter was sexy. Peter realized now that he'd taken that comment as a heavy hint that Davy felt the same about him. He could see now that Davy was only trying to help Peter through his crush by giving him an example-reassuring him that thinking another guy was sexy wasn't all that unusual . . . or bad. But even though they'd discussed this whole thing many times, Peter felt they hadn't gotten anywhere at all. What a waste. One thing he was acutely aware of tonight was the loss of the feel of Davy's body pressed up close to his.

Davy felt like a piece of shit. How could he have hurt Peter, the dearest friend he'd ever had, so badly? And all through total lack of communication. That's what it came down to in the end.

So. . . that was it. It was over. Life goes on. Really, there'd never even _been_ anything there to begin with. Peter continued to live his everyday life at home and at work. He thought he did a pretty good job of acting as if all were well with him, as if his heart weren't being squeezed in a vise all of the time.

In the following weeks they had a couple of gigs that went better than any of them thought was possible. Audiences were really responding to them, really getting into the music. They were steadily gaining fame. The public was beginning to recognize them, and it was happening fast. So they were busy, which helped a lot. Peter spent as much time with Davy as he ever had-there just wasn't the closeness there anymore. They still joked around, poked fun at each other and watched movies, but Davy didn't touch Peter at all, and Peter yearned for it with everything in him.

Mike and Micky had a very general overall idea of what the story was, and they felt bad for Peter too. They'd seen the signs all along. The magic was simply gone when Peter and Davy performed, although they still performed exquisitely, the spark wasn't showing between them. And they acted like formal friends at home now. But what could you do? If one party isn't feeling it, then there can be no couple. So they tried to stay out of it, other than encouraging both Davy and Peter to get out and date. All work and no play is no good for anyone, Mike often recited to them. Dating is where its at, you know.

Peter could honestly say he really made an effort at dating again, but found his heart just wasn't in it. Davy also started dating again, but Peter noticed he didn't stay out half as long as he used to. He was usually home even before a couple of hours had passed. And he also didn't bring any girls home. Peter figured Davy didn't want to show disrespect for Peter by doing that, which was typical of Davy.

Other than TV time, which trumped everything, the most difficult part of the day for Peter was bedtime. They had always had exactly the same routine every night, yet now things were different. None of that sweetness remained. Only politeness, courtesy and a lot of silence. No coldness, but the comforting warmth had vanished. Peter often saw Davy look at him in a way that made Peter think Davy was going to say something, but then the moment always passed, and Davy had quickly averted his gaze.

Peter dreamed of Davy often, at least two to three times a week, and, even though he fought it, the fantasizing continued. Kissing a man _had_ to be different from kissing a woman, and Peter was very ambivalent about the thought. Davy was not just _any_ man, but Peter wondered if kissing a man might gross him out, and then what would he do? But. . . alas, that was something he didn't have to worry about.

Micky came home one night and announced his sister was finally getting married to the guy she'd been seeing for four years. And she wanted more than anything for Micky to attend. No problem with that, except for the miles between them. Micky was in California and his sister was in Florida. That meant an airplane flight, and Micky was terrified of flying.

"Its a common phobia, Mick. Just go to the doctor and ask for something to get you through it. Some Xanax or something. Either that or smoke some weed before you board the plane," was Mike's solution.

"I tried both before. They only took the very edge off. I was still climbing the walls for the whole flight . . . even with no turbulence," he added.

"Well, then, just take an extra pill, or smoke some extra weed."

"You don't understand, Mike. If I had someone with me, plus the pills, it would help a lot. Mike, is there any way you can go with me? Or either of you?" Micky was clearly in a bad state. Just the thought of the flight had made him turn ghostly pale.

Everyone shook their heads. They were busy practicing daily, doing recording sessions and generally pushing hard on building notriety for the band.

Davy felt real empathy for Micky, for even though he wasn't afraid of flying, he did have a couple of phobias, so he knew very well how frightening they could be.

"I'll go with you, Mick," he said. I don't really have to practice as much as the others since I usually don't do an instrument. Unless you count the tambourine and maracas, and occasional drums. And you know I can practice singing anywhere." Micky's face lit up with relief.

"Wait. . . " Mike looked thoughtful. " I can write songs as easily on a plane as I can here, and I could even take my guitar. How long would we be gone?"

"Well, I figure 4-5 days. That'll give me a couple of days to visit so I won't be rushing out of there right after the wedding. If my sister didn't mean so much to me, it would be different, but I just can't let her down."

"I understand. And I'm in a better position to afford the plane tickets right now, so the timing's good. I'll go with you." Mike was referring to the checks he'd been getting for writing songs, which were substantial. Mike looked at Davy out of the corner of his eye, and saw no objections. Davy still felt so miserable inside since this whole disaster with Peter that he didn't think he could stomach a wedding.

"God, thanks Michael. You don't know what this means." Micky looked almost as if he might shed a tear.

The wedding was still 6 weeks away, and the boys were practicing hard, and planned to do that almost right up until Mike and Micky had to leave for the airport, so they wouldn't really be losing that much practice time in the long run. Except working together, but Mike felt that only 4 or 5 days wouldn't make much difference.

By the time only 2 weeks were left before their departure, Peter came to the realization that he and Davy would be alone at the pad. He'd been feeling so down that he had hardly listened when they discussed their travel plans.

It wouldn't be any different than it was now though, he reminded himself. Davy would probably go out, and they would probably watch TV, then go to bed as usual. Same old routine. The only difference would be that Mike and Micky wouldn't be there. Nothing to worry about, so he put it out of his mind for now.

Davy seemed very distracted lately. The other band members often had to repeat themselves to him, and he sometimes forgot to eat lunch. He seemed to be working on automatic pilot, Micky had commented to Mike.

"I think he's nervous about us being gone, and he and Peter being alone," was Mike's sage comment.

And that was, in fact, exactly the problem. Davy tried not to imagine what kind of scenarios could come about as a result of them having the pad all to themselves. He tried hard not to think of it, but what if Peter came on to him? What if he had to reject Peter and hurt him yet again? He could stay gone much of the time, and come home late enough so that Peter would probably already be asleep. It would only be for 4 or 5 days, after all. It wasn't that Peter would try to rape him or anything. That thought never even entered his mind, as he knew Peter probably wasn't even capable of such thoughts. He was too gentle and caring. But what if. . . and his mind just took off from there. Racing thoughts held him captive.

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

David found himself becoming paranoid about even coming home the day Mike and Micky left for the airport. That morning he'd made himself scarce. He didn't want to witness Micky's rapid speech and nail chewing that always occured before a flight. Davy felt too much compassion for him, and there was nothing he could do for him anyway. He'd come downstairs shortly before they'd left, and hugged Micky briefly, making sure Micky had his bottle of Xanax in his pocket, then bid them farewell. Mike got a handshake, as Mike wasn't big on hugs.

Peter had driven them to the airport. Davy realized he should have gone too, but he didn't think he could handle the drive home alone with Peter. Nothing was planned that day, as there wasn't a whole lot Peter and Davy could do musically without Mike and Micky. Peter wouldn't be home until the afternoon anyway. So they had decided just to take the day off. Davy left the pad not long after the other three had departed. But people were starting to recognize him more all the time, and even in a baseball cap, he could only last so long before girl fans started to follow him in the mall. He couldn't handle that, so finally decided he might as well go home.

Davy had no idea where Peter had gone, or what he might have done after seeing Mike and Micky off, or if he'd even be home when Davy arrived. Davy found himself circling the block after spying the Monkeemobile at the pad, not wanting to go home, yet not knowing what else to do.

Deciding he may as well go home and face the music-that is, Peter, he took a deep breath and parked, giving the Monkeemobile an affectionate pat as he passed it. It was a ritual of his, he'd always done it since they'd gotten it.

He didn't know if Peter would be watching TV, reading, eating, or up in their bedroom. He had no idea what kind of mood Peter would be in either. He felt ill at ease with not knowing. He didn't like that feeling of having no control over the unknown. He might find a cold, hard, distant Peter, a shy, retiring Peter, a Peter with an accusatory look on his face, or a sad, sweet puppy dog faced Peter, the look that he was sure Peter didn't even know he displayed, and that had melted Davy's heart on too many occasions.

What greeted him as he entered the pad was anything but what he expected. The light from the late afternoon sun coming through the sheer curtains played with long strands of Peter's blond super shiny hair which partially fell over Peter's eyes as he sat on the couch, playing his guitar as he looked down at the strings. . . bare to the waist.

His beauty almost made Davy gasp as Peter expertly picked at the instrument. That thick hair, that gorgeous body, those entrancing brown eyes that seemed to change color-sometimes almost amber, sometimes green, with Peter's moods. Peter knew his way around a guitar. Davy remembered Mike admitting that Peter was a better guitarist than he was. This was somehow exciting, although how, Davy couldn't have told you. Something broke loose inside Davy. Somehow, all of Peter's unclouded persona, his innate wonder and sometimes seeming innocence was showing through as he picked the guitar's strings as gently as a lover.

As if in slow motion, Peter serenely looked up through his bangs at a Davy who was frozen in his tracks. Neither said a word, and Peter stopped playing. There was absolute silence. Peter threw his hair back from his eyes with a slight flip of his head. For once the tables were turned. _Davy_ was staring at _Peter_. He tried to look away several times, but Peter's calm, inquisitive energy kept pulling his gaze back. The moments wore on and for the first time in ages they held their eye contact with no glimmer of uneasiness or embarrassment. After so many weeks of avoiding this kind of connection, this was comparable to a wave suddenly breaking and crashing onto the sand, then gently flowing back out to sea, inviting you to wade in.

Davy had to force himself to remember to breathe. _Whoa, hold on. Breathe. . . _.

"Its hot in here," said Peter so softly Davy could hardly hear him. It was, indeed. The windows were open, but it was August in Southern California, and the guys ran the air conditioning as little as possible to save on the power bill. It was still a habit, although now they were starting to make enough money to afford it.

There was a slight breeze that tickled the curtains just as Davy passed by Peter to go upstairs. He passed by so close that he smelled Peter's sweat, clean sweat, not old sweat, and his stomach went tight with desire. The smell of Peter-the smell he knew so well. It was sweet, masculine and oh-so-inviting.

"Um. . . I'm gonna go take a shower," said Davy. Anything to get the hell out of there before he did or said something-what, he didn't know. But much better safe than sorry. . .

When Davy reluctantly got out of the shower, after stalling as long as he dared, he hoped to God Peter weren't still sitting on the couch, half naked and playing the guitar. It had done something to his insides that he wasn't prepared to examine.

Peter, in the meantime, was trying to figure out what had just happened. Davy's face always showed a lot of expression, but tonight he was in one of his mysterious moods. Those were the times Peter couldn't read him. And they had been dominating Davy's behavior lately. Davy had stared at him for a long time with an much-practiced poker face. _What was up with him?_ Davy was an enigma, and it bugged Peter that he didn't know what was going on in that quick thinking mind of his fellow band mate's.

To Davy's dismay, Peter was still strumming away, and still shirtless.

"Um, I'm gonna put a TV dinner in, since Mike's not here to make us hot dogs," he said in an effort to lighten things up. "I'm going to have the chicken. What kind do you want?"

"The chicken's fine with me too."

Half an hour later they sat down in front of the TV with their heated dinners and two TV trays. Peter grabbed for his shirt, which was draped on the end of the couch.

"No. . . don't do that," said Davy.

"Don't do what?"

"Put on your shirt. Keep it off." Davy smiled and giggled.

Well, if that didn't beat all! Davy was joking, like old times! Maybe he was starting to come back to his old self again. That would make Peter happy beyond words. To have their old relationship back. Their close, warm friendship. He didn't even care if Davy started teasing him again, as long as things could go back to the way they were before. He thought Davy had been kidding about his shirt, making a joke. Little did he know how serious Davy was. He laughed too, and went for his shirt again. Davy blocked his hand and gave Peter a look that was deep, yet lighthearted at the same time, still smiling slyly.

Okay, well, Peter could handle that. It was no shirt, then. He still thought Davy was just messing around, though. Just like old times. If he couldn't have Davy any other way, he'd gladly settle on the friendship he'd been so afraid they'd lost somewhere along the way.

After they were done eating, the sun was starting to go down, and a cool breeze wafted in through the window. "At least there's a breeze, and its blowing in the right direction," commented Davy.

"Yeah, feels good."

Davy waited until it was nearly dark outside, then he got up and turned the TV off.

"Why'd you do that?" Peter hadn't really been interested in watching TV, but he'd sure been enjoying just sitting next to Davy. That was more than enough to keep him happy.

Davy didn't answer. _Darned if he wasn't acting weird tonight_, thought Peter for the second time. So he shrugged and picked up his guitar again and began playing softly. Davy was in the kitchen putting the empty TV dinner containers in the trash.

The kitchen light went out, leaving only the dim light in the living room. Suddenly, Peter felt Davy's hands on his shoulders. Peter startled a bit, but tried not to show it. _What the. . . ?_Frankly, he was afraid to move. Davy's head appeared over Peter's left shoulder, and his hand brushed Peter's hand away as he grabbed the neck of Peter's guitar, while his opposite hand started strumming some simple chords that Peter had taught him some time ago.

"See? I remember it."

"I see that." Peter was afraid to say anything more. He felt paralyzed. The closeness of their bodies was something he'd missed for so long, and its sudden return was almost too much. Davy leaning over him like that . . . so close. God, how he ached.

After a bit more strumming, the fingers stopped, and returned to Peter's shoulders. Then Peter felt something that literally took his breath away. Davy was nuzzling into the back of his neck, and then . . . was he really doing that? Or being playful again, and putting something wet on Peter's neck to make him think he was. . . No, Davy couldn't be actually _kissing_ the back of his neck. . . could he?

When Peter realized a few seconds later that it was indeed true, he gasped loud enough for it to be heard throughout the entire room. It made Davy's blood run hot, and it stoked his inner fire into a bright blaze. As Davy continued to kiss the back of his neck, Peter let go of a low, soft moan that he didn't even have time to stifle. _My god! _He immediately started praying like crazy that Davy wasn't messing around. The Monkees had pulled some pretty far-out stunts on each other, but no one had ever gone _this _far.

The more he thought about it, the more he feared Davy was joking around. What a cruel joke that would be. . .Peter couldn't imagine Davy being that thoughtless. _Please don't stop!_

But. . . he couldn't even make his brain work anymore. All he could think about was the feel of Davy's wet lips kissing his neck, how sensual it felt, Davy's warm breath coming fast against the hair at his nape, causing Peter to get instant goosebumps. He realized that Davy was now working his way to the side of his neck. Peter had never been so hyper aware of the sheer number of nerve endings in his neck.

Peter stopped fighting his feelings then and threw his head back, and Davy thought he would burst right then and there. His breathing came fast and shallow, and he didn't even try to hide it from Peter. Let Peter hear his desire for him. . . minutes later Davy took Peter's hand in his own as he vaulted over the couch, landing perfectly, right next to Peter. Just kissing Peter's neck had excited him more than he thought was possible. He felt a buzzing in his ears, an excitement that no other could match.

They stared at each other, that is, after Peter gained the courage to look into Davy's eyes. Davy was sitting like he used to-pressed up against Peter, in contact from their shoulders to their hips. Peter picked up his guitar and propped it against the wall across the room. Walking back to the couch, he blushed furiously, wondering if Davy could see his excitement in his tight jeans. Hell, he'd gotten harder faster with Davy than with any girl he'd ever been with! And the really amazing part of it was, only Davy's hands on his shoulders had triggered it. The rest of it-Davy playing his guitar, then kissing his neck had only made him throb more.

Davy had been very afraid to approach Peter tonight. This happening had been the farthest thing from his mind when he'd come home. In fact, he'd dreaded seeing Peter, having to even be around him, because of the awkwardness of the last few weeks. He'd still been very uncomfortable when he'd gone upstairs to take a shower. But when he'd come back downstairs, it had hit him instantly. It was totally spur of the moment. He knew in that moment what he was going to do after they ate dinner. It might very well end up with him looking like a complete fool because he had no idea what Peter might do. There was a real possibility of Peter rejecting him. So he kept that in mind constantly. But he was willing to take that chance, if only Peter would allow him to get close. The adrenaline rush had been astonishing.

With the both of them being bashful as hell, they simply sat there, neither one taking the lead, and neither knowing what to do. Davy knew what to do with women, but when it came to Peter, he was befuddled. He had no clue even where to start.

"Have you missed me as much as I've missed you?" Davy's voice was barely above a whisper.

"God, have I ever."

Davy realized he'd have to make some kind of move, since Peter appeared to be in a catatonic state. Bolstering his courage, he turned toward Peter, leaned forward and put his arms around him. Peter came out of his trance and immediately hugged Davy close to him.

They stayed that way for some time, just enjoying the feel of touching each other again. They were starved for one another. After a few minutes, Peter rubbed Davy's back lightly. Davy leaned into Peter's embrace even more until he was plastered up against him. Peter's hands on him was what he'd been wanting for what seemed a lifetime. Peter began to nuzzle at Davy's neck the same way Davy had to him. Davy shuddered. The kisses on his neck became tiny little nibbles that made Davy's toes actually curl. He thought he could feel Peter's tongue every now and then. He was practically panting with the pleasure.

Peter's hand came up and cupped the nape of Davy's neck, burying his fingers in Davy's hair. Nothing could have been more erotic. . . and precious.

"I need to take a shower," mumbled Peter from the vicinity of Davy's cheek.

"No, no."

"But its hot, and I've done a bit of sweating."

"I love your smell, Pete. Please don't let go of me."

Peter obeyed, kissed Davy's cheek three or four times, then pulled slowly back, contemplating his next move. As he was drawing back, Davy turned his head toward Peter's face at just the right moment, and caught Peter's lips with his. Peter thought he was the luckiest man in the world at that moment.

Davy was thrilled with his timing-it had been perfect. After their lips touched the first time, Davy wasn't going to let Peter get away. He kissed, with his lips nearly closed at Peter's bottom lip, over and over until Peter groaned without shame, opening his mouth slightly and kissing Davy more fully, the way Davy obviously wanted to be kissed.

At first, they tip-toed around each other, so to speak. Very hesitant, waiting for clues from each other, each one afraid the other would pull away at any second. Especially Peter. He was rightfully nervous. He knew Davy's reluctance had been there from the beginning, when this whole thing had started. So he left the door wide open in case Davy started to freak out. He gave him plenty of chances to back off at any point.

But, a little later, when Peter experimented by deepening the kiss, opened his mouth a bit more and held Davy closer still, all doubt was gone. Davy himself was moaning now, clinging to Peter as if his need was so great that he'd perish if Peter let go for even a second. The kiss went on and on. No tongues as of yet (both of them were still unsure about that) but the passion was reaching new heights with every passing second.

_Easy now, you've got to take this slow. Don't blow it. Let it take as long as it takes. _

Peter continued to kiss Davy. Every time their lips came apart, Peter had to have more. _Now. _The need was so great. _S_o he claimed Davy's lips, over and over. His fantasies had not steered him wrong-he _could_ kiss Davy for hour after hour. Easily.

He needn't have worried about how he would feel about kissing a man, or even Davy's reaction now. It was obvious they were both totally into each other. God, this was the sweetest feeling in the world.

_Don't get too eager-at all costs, don't rush. We have all the time in the world._

Davy surrendered to Peter, yet asserted just enough of himself to let Peter know he had no reservations. He gave himself to Peter, melted in his arms. Letting Peter take the lead seemed so natural.

That Davy had initiated this whole thing tonight thrilled Peter to no end. It reassured him that Davy wanted him every bit as much as he wanted Davy.

Their breathing was ragged-after months of building desire, they couldn't get enough of each other. The moaning was mutual, as they were both very vocal. This only heightened the pleasure.

After an indeterminable period of time, Peter, finally being convinced Davy was completely receptive, finally let himself go, and kissed Davy fully, with all the passion he had been saving for him. He felt he were living his dreams he'd had of this so often, and praying he wouldn't wake up. Peter was naturally an intense kisser-he kissed like he made love, and this time was no exception. His mouth opened wider and he was soon practically devouring David's mouth. He licked Davy's lips, sucked at them, at his tongue. Davy returned it all, whimpers coming from deep in his throat .

After at least 15 minutes of non stop kissing, they finally paused and just held each other. Davy placed a hand on Peter's bare chest, letting the soft golden hair there caress his palm. He had been afraid that the hair on Peter's body would turn him off, after having been with girls, but it had the direct opposite effect. He found it highly erotic.

They began to slip down lower and lower on the couch until Peter was on his back, Davy halfway over his chest, rubbing Peter's chest and belly. He was very careful not to venture below Peter's navel. They had so much time. The other two band members would be gone for 3 or 4 more days, and even after that, he and Peter shared a bedroom. The endless possibilities filled him with delight. They were going to do this right.

**CHAPTER NINE**

After they'd caught their breaths a bit from all the kissing, Peter spoke up.

"What the hell got into you?" he said softly into Davy's ear, as if someone might hear, making Davy shiver with the sensuality of it.

"I think. . . I finally faced the fact that I've been. . . denying my feelings for you, and decided to try you to see if you still wanted me. Once I got started. . . and you responded like that, I knew its what I wanted too, and I sure wasn't gonna stop."

Peter smiled. He could hardly believe his luck. This handsome, charming, loving guy that all the girls went nutty over wanted him. _Really wanted_ him.

"Look, there's to be no pressure on you from me in any way. If you ever feel uncomfortable, in any way, I want to know about it right away." Peter wanted no further misunderstandings.

"Agreed. But right now, Petah? I need more loving."

One thing Peter _didn't_ need was encouragement. He cupped Davy's face in his hands, kissing him deeply over and over, slowly becoming more bold, until he realized he was unbuttoning Davy's shirt. When it was halfway undone, Peter slipped his hands under Davy's shirt and ran his hands over his chest. Davy's sharp intake of breath told him either Davy was objecting, or responding in a very good way. A quick look at Davy's face told him what he wanted to know. Davy's eyes were closed and he was breathing very deeply, as if he'd been sprinting.

"I'm underloved too, David. Do you know how I've dreamed of this?"

"I was busy denying my feelings, but it was really there all along. I'm not going to fight it anymore. Don't want to." The resolution in Davy's voice made Peter smile, and his dimple deepened. Peter didn't think he'd stopped smiling, except when he was kissing Davy, from the time Davy had jumped over the couch and landed in just the right place-tight against his side.

Davy got busy kissing Peter's dimple when his hand, still on Peter's chest, brushed Peter's nipple. A gasp came from Peter. "Wow, everywhere you touch me, its electric," Peter said in a strained voice as Davy began to rub his fingers there oh-so-lightly. He was delighted he was making Peter feel so good.

"You have me so damn sensitized now," gasped Peter. "Oh man."

Just then the phone rang. They looked at each other with dismay.

"Bloody awful timing," said Davy.

Peter peeled Davy off him, which was no easy task, strode across the room and reluctantly answered it as he knew the loud ringing would quickly become very annoying. It was Mike, calling to let them know they had safely arrived in Florida, and had a hotel room.

"How did Micky handle the flight?" Peter remembered to ask through his fog of passion as he gazed at Davy from across the room.

"Oh, he did fair, except when we had a bit of turbulence. Then I thought he was gonna break my arm a few times there. He was twisting it so hard that he gave me an Indian burn," Mike chuckled.

"So the pills didn't help much?"

"Oh, they helped all right. But he had to keep taking a little bit more, the closer we came to departure time. Little bit more here, little bit more there. By the time we boarded, he had taken about 2 and a half pills, he was almost stumbling. I had to walk behind him, pushing him in the right direction. His eyes were a little glassy, but he wasn't screaming and trying to get off the plane, at least. But there was still some fear breaking through the drug."

Peter could almost see the scene in his mind. "He's fine now though. He's out like a light. Its eleven here anyway."

So it was 8 in California already? That meant Peter and Davy had been on the couch for nearly two hours, kissing and cuddling! And Peter was still far from having his fill.

"You guys okay there, Pete? You sound a little out of it."

"Oh, I'm out of it all right. I'm flyin' high," Peter winked at Davy as he said it, and Davy stifled a giggle.

"Pete, you aren't smokin' that stuff _again_, are ya?

"Nah, don't need it. I'm on a natural high," and Peter.

Mike wasn't sure, but he had some suspicions about what Peter was referring to. He sure hoped he was right.

"Well, you keep that Manchester Cowboy entertained, do you hear me?"

"Oh, I don't think that'll be a problem."

Mike smiled. Yep, he had thought right.

Even though no words were spoken in reference to it, Peter and Davy, for once, were on the same page. They both wanted to stretch this thing out, relish the pure joy of it and put all hurry aside. Admittedly it was going to be very difficult, as it wasn't like dating. They were, after all, living in the same pad and even sleeping in the same room together. It was funny how they each knew what the other was thinking, and it was with a silent mutual understanding that they navigated this unknown territory together.

As soon as Peter had returned to the couch, Davy had attacked him as if he'd been gone a week and they had begun a deep, wet kiss again when someone knocked at the door.

Sighing, Peter whispered that they should go upstairs and pretend they weren't home. But the Monkeemobile was out there as well as Davy's car, so Peter had no choice but to go to the door. It was Mr. Babbit, wanting the rent. Peter grabbed the envelope off the table and impatiently shoved it at him. Mr. Babbit wrinkled his forehead at Peter's unusually gruff behavior, carefully counted his money, then left.

"Hey Davy," said Peter after the front door was closed. "If we want to take this slow, I'm gonna have to split for a while."

"What?" Davy's eyebrows shot up.

"I'm about ready to, well, I don't know _what_ I'm about ready to do, but we'd both find out real fast if I don't distract myself. I'm about to split my pants," Peter smiled shyly and looked down at the floor.

"Petah, you're not going anywhere. I've been rock hard almost the entire time since I came home and saw you shirtless, playing the guitar. That's been hours ago." They both laughed, turning all shades of red.

"Well then, that reminds me. Let's just get _your_ shirt all the way off."

Peter's voice had changed-gotten deeper and a bit rough all of a sudden. He approached the couch, and Davy looked up at him, wishing he could hold this moment in his memory like a photo you look at over and over. But he knew the human memory was less than perfect, and had fits and starts. Some things were retained, some were not. Memory tended to be very random. Even as he thought this though, he doubted he'd soon forget Peter standing over him, love shining bright in his eyes, right along with the lust, his hair sweeping over his eyes, shirtless, the crotch of his pants positively bulging. What a glorious picture he made!

Davy sprung off the couch and grabbed his camera off the counter, then sat back down.

"Keep looking at me just like that, Pete. Don't change a thing. I want a sure way to commit this to memory."

Peter offered no objection as Davy took his picture. Then he took the camera and put it aside, sat down and worked the rest of Davy's shirt buttons loose. Slowly, carefully, he eased the shirt off Davy's shoulders and pulled it all the way off. Davy might have been small, but he had some muscle definition in his arms because he'd been working out for the last few months.

Peter ran his hands up from Davy's wrists to his biceps, then squeezed gently. "Mmmm. . . nice," he murmured, then ran his fingers over Davy's ribs, very lightly, much like Davy had done to his arm the night they'd gotten stoned. "Ahhhhh. . . Peter!"

Peter laughed softly. "What's good for the goose is good for the gander. Now you know how I felt the night we smoked that weed in Micky's room. "Only I couldn't do a thing about it. And you _knew_ it, you little tease, you. Torture, isn't it?" Peter's voice had become very soft and smooth and Davy could see the desire smoldering in his eyes.

After a lot more kissing, Peter brushed Davy's nipple as Davy had to him. Davy apparently had sensitive nipples like Peter, because he took in a sudden gulp of air, his nipples instantly hardening under Peter's touch.

"Too much more of this, and _I'm_ going to burst," gasped Davy.

"Yup, we're going too fast. Gotta stop now."

They did their best not to give in to their raging desires that night. At bedtime, Peter asked Davy where he wanted to sleep. Without a word, Davy slipped into Peter's bed. "Think we can manage this without getting out of control?" he asked.

"We can try." Peter wasn't so sure this was a good idea. When he and Davy had slept together the night they'd gotten high, Peter had still not known for sure how Davy felt about him. Now that he did, he feared he might spend a sleepless night, panting over the sleeping beauty next to him. But after they'd settled, with Davy tucked under Peter's arm and his head resting on Peter's chest, the both of them slept soundly.

Peter had Davy pinned on the living room floor, his fingers intertwined with Davy's, keeping steady pressure on Davy's hands, Davy squirming frantically.

"Get _off_ me, you brute! You outweigh me by 40 or 50 pounds! Not fair!"

"Not until I get a kiss-a real good one," was Peter's sly answer.

"Oh, then if that's the case, why didn't you just ask?" Davy's arresting half smile appeared, and he lifted his head to touch Peter's lips with his own. Peter let go of Davy's hands, Davy's arms went around Peter's neck, and they dove right into it, holding nothing back. Peter's hands rubbed Davy's sides very lightly, serving only to make Davy more frantic. He began to suck at Peter's tongue as Peter had to his. Peter thought he was going to come undone right there.

Peter began to roll them over and over, making Davy giggle and beg for mercy. "I'm getting dizzy!"

Later on in the afternoon, Peter announced he had to go out for a short while. "As a matter of fact, so do I."

Each curious about what the other was doing, they went their separate ways. When they returned to the pad, Davy had a large pizza in tow, and Peter had a bottle of champagne.

"Perfect!" squealed Davy. "Nothing goes together like pizza and champagne! I think I know what the occasion is, too."

"Yup, celebrating our second night alone together." Peter winked at him. Davy's toes started to curl again just thinking about what might be in store.

**CHAPTER TEN**

The pizza was long gone by the time Peter made a show of uncorking the champagne bottle, performed like an expert, then filling each of their glasses and doing a toast. Simply it was, "To us, and tonight."

They clinked glasses, talked a lot, and the bottle was mostly empty before they knew it.

"Now I'm gettin' horny, and I'm gonna _get_ you!" Peter said as he slowly and dramatically rose from his chair at the table and lunged at Davy, who still sat calmly in his chair. But as so often happened, he underestimated Davy's quick reactions and speed. Davy was out of that chair and across the room before Peter even got close. Then up the stairs they went, Davy well in the lead, and Peter struggling to gain on him. Davy led Peter around the bedroom at breakneck speed, then gracefully leaped at least 5 feet, catching the bannister in mid-air, slid down it with complete abandon, and went flying out the front door.

The people in the apartment complex must have stared out their windows in wonder at the two guys leaping flowerbeds, jumping fences, swinging around trees, laughing the entire time. At one point Davy was laughing so hard that he simply collapsed where he was, on the grass. Peter tripped over Davy while running at a high rate of speed, somersaulted hard, and they both rolled around, clutching their stomachs in helpless laughter.

"Frisky today, aren't you boys?" asked an older tenant as she walked by.

"Frisky indeed," said Davy, eyeing Peter's lustful gaze on him.

Later on that night, Peter tasted the champagne in Davy's mouth and could hardly contain himself. They were a bit tipsy, and it was especially difficult to remain chaste as they held each other in bed that night.

"Petah," said Davy on their third day alone. "Do you want to go riding with me today?"

"Riding?" Peter's first thought was of a motorcycle or unicycle, which they were both proficient at.

"On horses."

_"What? _I've only ridden a handful of times in my life, and that was on rental horses."

Davy smiled. "Rental horses are bomb proof-nothing like the horses I have in mind. I think you'd really enjoy it after I give you a few brief lessons."

"I'm not so sure about this," said Peter tensely as he sat astride a beautiful Arabian Davy had selected for him. They were on a ranch where Davy had fellow horse loving friends, and the people were nice enough to let Davy come ride whenever he wanted, and even bring a friend along, if he so desired. Davy had been an apprentice jockey in England when he was young, so he was well qualified to teach Peter the ropes.

"These horses are well trained and very responsive. In other words, _don't_, under any circumstances, kick them or yank on their mouths. All it takes is the merest suggestion of your calf on his side, and the slightest cue with the reins. Here, like this." Davy stood on the ground and showed Peter the basics. Just don't make any quick unpredictible moves-spirited horses don't like that. Also, you can circle a horse if he gets out of control, as in going too fast. Just circle him down slowly, until he finally comes back to a walk. You can also grab this," he indicated the horn on the saddle, or this," he indicated the horse's mane "if you think you're gonna eat it."

"Real easy for you, David. But remember that's a lot for me to think about."

"You'll be okay, you'll be with me and I'll make sure nothing happens to you."

At first, Peter had a lot of trouble making his cues subtle enough, as the horse kept overreacting to whatever he did. He and the horse zig-zagged, went in reverse and spun around in equal amounts. But in watching how Davy rode his horse, he saw how little was really necessary. "Don't over ride, don't micro manage him," Davy kept reminding him. It was then that Peter started to flow more easily with the horse. He started to follow the horse's motion, as he saw Davy doing. Davy looked as if he were part of the animal he rode.

After an hour of walking and trotting, Davy felt Peter was ready to canter, which was a slow gallop. When they first took off, Peter felt as if they were breaking from a starting gate, quite a bit faster than he had expected, and a loud "Whoa" came automatically from his mouth without him even giving it a second thought. The horse stopped on a dime, and Peter naturally went flying over his head, unceremoniously landing face down in the dirt, much like at the beach, only this time, he'd fallen from 5 feet, going about 25 miles per hour.

Davy immediately circled his horse back. "You all right, Pete?" concern tinged his voice.

"Yeah, I guess," Peter hauled himself to his feet, brushing himself off.

"Never yell whoa at a well trained horse, unless you want to stop like _right now_." Davy was laughing hard.

Peter, being the sport he was, mounted again and they went on to galloping quite a bit, Peter and his horse following Davy, the wind blowing their hair and the horses' manes, laughing, and by the end of the 2 hour ride, Peter felt proficient enough to stop, turn and ride his horse at whatever speed he desired with relative ease. At least for a rookie. He felt very proud of himself.

On the way home, Peter was beaming. "See Petah? I told you that you'd like it once you had a little practice. You picked it up real quick too."

"Yeah, well. My legs feel like they won't work, and my butt is practically numb."

Davy smiled. "Wait until tomorrow and the next day. Then you'll know what sore is."

"Thanks a lot, David. We only have one or two days left alone, depending on when Mike and Micky leave, and you're saying I'll be sore? Did you do this on purpose?" They both laughed.

"Don't worry, I don't think you'll be sore enough to keep you from givin' me that lovin' of yours. You don't think I'd take that chance, do ya? I'm no fool, Pete." They shared that all-knowing smile.

How Peter had been able to keep his hands off Davy for two nights still amazed him. He was willing to wait, however. He couldn't blow this. He had to be certain Davy trusted him implicitly. _Good things come to those who wait,_ he had to keep reminding himself. The thought that possibly their last day alone was coming up filled him with anticipation.

After they'd gotten home and Peter had practically sprinted for the shower, Davy laughed to himself. Horses _were_ smelly, with their sweat, manure, the dust and all. When Peter came back downstairs, he expressed an enormous relief to get the horse smell off him. "When you're around horses a lot, you get used to it after a while," said Davy. "But yeah, it still always feels great to shower afterward." With that, Davy went up and took his shower.

When he came downstairs, he was in one of his questioning moods. Davy had a curious streak that Peter found endearing; he always seemed to have a pressing need to know the answers.

"Did you wake up in the middle of the night last night?"

"Um, yeah. Why do you ask?"

"Because I knew you were awake."

"How'd you know?"

"You were rubbing up against me."

Peter's face again turned bright red. _When, oh when,_ would he stop blushing about this kind of thing?

"Sorry-guess I couldn't help myself."

"That's okay. It felt really nice." David felt his own cheeks start to burn.

It started out innocently enough. They were cuddling on the couch watching a flick that Peter had rented. The movie was one Peter had seen before, and knowing it was very romantic, he thought it would be a good choice for tonight. No porn for these two, but Peter felt R rated was perfect for the occasion.

He sat there with his arm around Davy, holding him close, now and then kissing the top of his head or his neck, completely free to let Davy indulge in his superior skills in the cuddling arena. No holding back like when Mike and Micky were around. Giving himself up to Davy. . .he could think of nothing nicer in the world. No one could cuddle quite like Davy. . . .

Peter awaited the love scene with barely concealed restlessness. Davy sensed it and the feeling was contagious, though he hadn't seen the movie before and wondered what all the nice-feeling vibrations running through Peter were about. He was picking up on Peter's energy, and he somehow knew tonight was going to be special. His heart quickened.

Surprisingly, they were both basically shy people. When on stage, it appeared very differently, but both needed to psyche themselves out before a performance, as both occasionally felt insecure from within. Peter was quite the musician, playing a variety of instruments, but playing them before an audience was so different from practicing in his own living room. And even though Davy was a regular Romeo with the girls, he would still sometimes get painfully bashful when kissing a girl for the first time. So he was the same way with Peter, only more so. Kissing Peter he now had no problem with. They had done it so often in the last three days that he knew what Peter liked, knew what he liked, and they were now perfectly in sync with each other. Neither was uneasy about kissing the other at any time. As far as going farther went though, both guys were still anxious, not knowing what the other wanted. . . or liked. Their only experience had been with women.

When the romantic scene finally came up, Peter held Davy even closer to him. As they both watched the love scene unfold, the sexual tension became almost unbearable. When the love scene was over, Davy casually went over and turned the TV off. Peter's eyes were wide, wondering what his little friend had planned _this _time, and remembered oh-so-well the last time Davy had turned off the TV.

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

Davy didn't say a word, just dropped to the living room floor (it was a lot more roomy than the couch, and he was too shy to invite Peter into the bedroom).

"I'd like to tickle you," he said, trying to break the ice.

"Sounds delicious." Peter was by his side in an instant, then on top of Davy, trapping his hands together with one hand as he began tickling Davy's ribcage with the other.

"Wait a minute! I wasn't ready!" weakly protested Davy.

"Okay then, let's each get ready." Peter stood up and pulled off his shirt, then squatted down and removed Davy's shirt as well. "Ready now?" Before waiting for an answer, he then threw himself on top of Davy again and pinned both Davy's hands down with his -fingers intwined like they had been the last time he'd had Davy pinned on the floor, but this time holding them above Davy's head. Erotic thoughts started the throbbing again. He lowered his head and began nibbling and licking Davy's sides.

Davy, being quite ticklish, jerked and flopped around like a fish, unable to get out from under Pete's superior strength and size. Peter stopped torturing him long enough to replace those nibbles and licks for kisses. In a flash, Davy was no longer the slightest bit ticklish. He was feeling that familiar blood flow below the belt that he felt whenever Peter touched or kissed him.

He sighed aloud. Peter heard it, and knew Davy was digging it. Peter kissed all over Davy's stomach, up over his chest, and even under his arms, then retraced that same path with his tongue. Davy's heart was pounding, the sensual feel of Peter's tongue making him feel like liquid inside.

Peter worked his way up Davy's neck, lingering there and sucking gently on it, and then to his cheek, and finally, his lips.

Davy's chest was heaving, and he knew Peter could see it. Peter was not in any better shape himself. He breathed like he'd just run a marathon. The excitement was building to a crescendo and he feared he wouldn't know what to do with it.

Warming Davy up was no problem, but Peter drew it out for their mutual enjoyment. They kissed deeply, their tongues rubbing and dancing together, licking at each other's lips. Then Peter ducked his head and licked Davy's left nipple. The groan that escaped Davy almost undid Peter. On to Davy's right nipple, licking and sucking, Davy practically thrashing now. Peter's hand rubbed lower and lower on Davy's belly very gradually, until he came to the top of his jeans. Peter just barely insterted the very tips of his fingers just below the beltline, not more than a quarter of an inch, and brushed his fingers slowly over Davy's skin.

In the blink of an eye, the atmosphere changed. Davy tensed. Peter stopped what he was doing immediately, moving his hand up to Davy's shoulder. "Hey, I would never hurt you, you know that, don't you?"

"Petah. . . I'm nervous."

As anxious as Peter was, as much as he was bursting at the seams to be intimate with Davy, he cupped his hand around Davy's neck, under his hair, and caressed it softly. "Nothing is going to happen here unless you want it to."

"Pete, could we just maybe slow kiss for a while? Really, I'm not teasing you-I'm just really scared and uptight."

"We can do whatever you want, and you never have to worry about me pressuring you. If all you ever want to do from now on is kiss, that's fine with me. I just want to be close to you more than anything else."

Davy felt his heart contract. Wow, Peter had the patience of Job and such sweetness to match.

"How about if you sit on my lap?"

"What? Sit on your lap?"

"Yeah, its a nice position to kiss from."

Peter was right. With Davy sitting sideways on his lap it didn't involve any twisting or leaning over to kiss. Their mouths fit so conveniently together. And they did what they had become so expert at-kissed long and and very slow for what seemed an eternity. The fire was building again until it blazed white hot.

When Davy started moaning and whimpering again, Peter knew Davy's needs were coming to the fore. He just patiently waited, and kept kissing him, knowing Davy must be able to feel his incredible hardness through the fabric of their pants. Peter couldn't help himself-he tilted his pelvis forward just the slightest bit as he kissed Davy, rubbing his erection oh-so-subtly against Davy's upper thigh. He was hardly moving at all, but the slight friction was all it took for Peter to almost lose control and start thrusting. He'd been frustrated for so long with wanting Davy.

It was now or never. Davy got up from the couch, took Peter's hand, and led him upstairs to their bedroom. At last, they were going to give and get some serious loving. Peter was overjoyed as they fell onto Peter's bed, embracing each other.

"Why are you so understanding with me, so gentle, when you must want to slap me silly for being a tease?"

"You're not being a tease, and we're a lot alike, that's why I understand you. We're both gentle and sensitive. So I get why you're so uncertain about this. Do you think I'm _not _nervous? I'm scared out of my mind."

"But, how do you know how to touch me, and make me want you so much?"

"Since we're having a heart to heart, I've watched you a few times when you've brought girlfriends over." Peter blushed. "I watched out of the corner of my eye so no one would notice, but I saw how gentle you were when you kissed them , and I figured that's how you'd want to be treated too."

Davy's smile lit up the room. "And right you are!" he said with enthusiasm.

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

Peter's gentle coaxing continued. He kissed Davy from his head to his stomach, always returning to Davy's mouth when Davy tensed up. But the wait was well worth it, for about the fourth time Peter ventured into the top of Davy's jeans, Davy relaxed and sighed.

Mike was always saying that patience was a virtue, and Peter couldn't have agreed with him more right now. Inch by inch, Peter was winning Davy with patience, and his heart swelled with love when Davy raised his hips slightly, inviting Peter's hand to delve deeper into his jeans. This was a testament to the trust Peter had worked for so hard to attain from Davy.

Peter, trying to quell the quiver in his hands and insides, slowly started to unfasten Davy's jeans, watching Davy's face the entire time for signs of distress. Davy's eyes were closed, as if he couldn't bear to look, or even to open them at all. Peter's heart hurt to see it. It couldn't be easy for Davy. Davy barely seemed to breathe, not moving a fraction of an inch.

After his jeans were unfastened, Peter gently started lowering them. Davy obliged by raising his hips slightly more. Davy's shoes had to be removed too, but luckily they were easy-they were Davy's favorite slip-on moccasins he wore around the pad. There were a few awkward moments, but Peter got both off in a matter of a couple of minutes. Davy was wearing briefs, and by the looks of it, was about ready to spill right out of them. For a little guy, those briefs looked awfully full. Peter tried not to look in case Davy caught him.

Peter then stood up and removed his shoes and pants. When he looked down at the bed, Davy still had his eyes closed. _He's having a rough time with this._ _I need to comfort him and make him feel safe. _

Peter, now in only his underwear, laid down on the bed and took Davy into his arms. Davy clung to him but didn't seem overly stressed. Somewhere along the way, Peter wasn't sure, Davy had begun to move his hips ever so slightly against Peter. Peter took the hint and moved too, but not too much. Just enough to acknowledge and meet Davy's movements.

"That's it, just relax and enjoy," Peter murmured into Davy's ear, the slight friction bringing him to new heights of passion.

What happened next was part of a pattern Peter was starting to see in Davy's behavior. Most of the time Davy was very shy with him, but episodes like that first night Davy came home and found Peter playing his guitar, and also when he had taken Peter's hand and taken him to the bedroom tonight were happening randomly. Peter wasn't about to complain as it assured him Davy was really into him. And he needed that badly.

Davy had lowered his hand to Peter's underwear and was touching the front of it so lightly that Peter hardly felt it. Instinct took over before Peter could stop, and he thrust gently toward Davy's hand. Davy eagerly grasped Peter's erection through the underwear, then put his hand inside them, touching Peter's bare flesh.

Peter thought he would faint dead away. A groan came from him that sounded like a growl. At the same time, Davy made a small noise of delight as well. Off came Peter's underwear, along with Davy's. And it was all Davy's doing. This little twerp was a fountain of surprises.

Peter grew much more bold now, in large part because he no longer had full control over himself. He wrapped his hand around Davy's penis, which with some shock he discovered was much larger than he had expected. He softly flicked his fingers over the head, then ran his fingers lightly over the length of it.

Davy's reaction was so strong that for a minute, Peter thought he was going to climax. But it was just the ever-expressive Davy, who made no secret of the way Peter was making him feel. Peter's heart soared.

Davy reached over, grasped Peter, and they thrust against each other, their hands stroking. Peter let go momentarily and grasped Davy's buttocks so their contact could be even closer. Rubbing against each other this way with rhythm was almost too much stimulation for either to bear.

"Oh god, you turn me on," Peter gritted through his teeth. "You feel so good in my hand. I've wanted to be close to you like this for longer than you know. We're both gonna feel even better in a minute."

Peter realized he had finally reached his limit for patience. He was literally wild with desire. He was just getting prepared to slide down Davy's body when Davy's head suddenly disappeared.

Afraid to look or even move, Peter felt thrilling sensations as Davy kissed his chest, his nipples, his stomach, and then his mouth trailed even lower. Peter couldn't help it-he held his breath for a moment.

When Davy's mouth engulfed him, Peter cried out. This was the very last thing he had expected! But it was at this moment he came to the realization that Davy was every bit as excited and carried away as he was. Wow, if he were asleep, this was going to be one helleva wet dream! But no. . . . _please_ don't let this be a dream!

Davy was very gentle, but aggressive at the same time. What a fantastic combination, thought Peter. His tongue licked the head and up and down the sides, making Peter's penis jerk with anticipation.

Davy's and Peter's labored breathing were the only sounds in the room, reverberating off the walls. Davy suddenly, without warning, took him all, clear down to the root. That was when Peter nearly went through the ceiling.

"David, oh god! Please. . . you're gonna make me come."

Davy wasn't to be denied, however. He continued, moaning the entire while, twirling with his tongue, sucking down deep, delving the slit, rubbing himself against Peter's lower leg, and Peter, after all the teasing and holding off, just could not take anymore. The stimulation that Davy provided, plus the fact that Peter knew it was _Davy _doing this, took him to a height he'd never achieved before.

"God, I'm coming, Davy! " Davy stayed with him all the way, eagerly taking what Peter had to offer. Peter bucked and thrashed, going right over the top, and his intense orgasm seemed to last forever. He cried out-several times, or maybe a hundred times, how loud, he didn't know, and didn't care. When it was finally over, Davy licked him clean, still making noises of delight in his throat.

Peter pulled Davy up beside him and kissed him. He could taste himself, and somehow that served to make it even more exciting.

"You're incredible. You really blew my mind."

"And your beautiful cock," said Davy with a shy smile. Peter's eyebrows shot up. " Oh, being clever, are you?" Peter was surprised that came out of Davy's mouth. Although Davy could cuss with the best of them, the circumstances had to be right, and that usually meant he was very angry. But hearing those words come from his mouth now was somehow very erotic.

"I'm dying to taste you, and you beat me to it," Peter whispered in Davy's ear. Peter started raining sloppy wet kisses all over Davy, who squirmed like a snake, feeling so aroused, yet also very tentative about what was about to happen next. The anticipation was intoxicating.

But his tension drained right away as Peter began kissing him down there much the same way he had kissed Peter. He was so sensitive by now that his nerves were tingling all over his body, not just where Peter's oral attentions were.

Peter was very uninhibited in the bedroom. It was just his way. He threw himself into the experience and held nothing back. Davy got the direct benefit of this. Peter did a lot of teasing; licking, nipping lightly, then backing off, only to return to engulf and suck him strongly. Davy knew he wasn't going to last any longer than Peter did at this rate.

And before he knew it, his back was arching and he was thrusting as Peter had, crying out loudly, grunting and moaning so much that somewhere stashed away in the back of his mind, Peter was vagely aware of the open windows, and wondering how many people could hear them. But he could have cared less. This was his precious Davy that he was giving so much pleasure to. Something he had awaited for so very long. He felt his heart swelling with pride that Davy was loving this just as much as he was.

"I'm sore," commented Peter sometime later, as they lay entwined on the bed.

"From what we did?"

"No, from the damn horseback ride."

Davy snickered. "That was nothin.' Try riding 4 hours sometime. Then you'd know what sore is."

"Oh, I could ride _you_ for 4 hours, no problem." Peter produced a devilish smile.

"We need to talk about that," Davy's voice suddenly lost its teasing tone. Stone silence reigned for a few seconds. He started blushing and was glad his head was on Peter's chest where Peter couldn't see his embarrassment.

"About what?"

"Riding me. I think I'd be more comfortable sticking to what happened tonight. What about you? Please be honest."

"No problem, love. I prefer this too. I've never done the other, but I get your drift, and I don't think it's my bag either."

Davy drew a deep breath of relief. He'd brought it up, gotten it out in the open, and now he didn't have to stew about it anymore in his mind. It had been a big part of why he'd been so nervous about he and Peter becoming intimate.

"Did you just call me what I think I heard?"

"Love? Yep. Just feels right. Does it bother you?"

"Oh no. . . in fact, I rather like it," said Davy in that cute little English accent that Peter never tired of, and always gave him butterflies.

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

"Mike called while you were in the shower," said Peter later, as they were rummaging through the refrigerator looking for something to snack on. "They'll be on their way home tomorrow. We need to be at the airport at one in the afternoon."

Peter hadn't brought it up earlier for fear it would spoil the mood. Davy went silent.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just really enjoying our time alone together. I wish it didn't have to end."

"It doesn't. We share a bedroom, remember?"

"Yeah, and that's great, but with them around we won't be able to frolic around as freely, like we've been doing."

Davy's choice of words amused Peter. He was still so very English in many ways.

"Yes we can. Mike suspects something; in fact, more than suspects. He never actually said it in so many words, but he let me know that he was aware. He said I 'had it bad.' He caught me staring at you at the photo shoot. He knew how much I was into you, and I really think he was glad you stayed home with me instead of going to the wedding with Micky. I even suspect it was a _factor _in him offering to go instead. He was giving us a chance to be alone, and boy am I glad he did! I'm sure Micky knows too. And I don't think there's any disapproval."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, we can at least go on cuddling, take it a little farther, cut out the inhibitions and see how they react, and just go from there. But I don't think there will be a problem with them."

"Cut out the inhibitions?"

"What I mean is, when we're cuddling, I won't be holding back anymore. I'll cuddle you back, put my arm around you, touch you. Things like that. I didn't mean we'd have _sex_ in front of them." Peter laughed. "Athough it would be kinda funny to see the expression on their faces if we did." Davy got a good laugh out of that one.

"Cool it, Davy!" It was past midnight, and Davy was tickling him. One moment things had been serene and peaceful, holding each other on the couch after their snack. The next, Davy was all over him, laughing and doing his "itsy-bitsy spider imitation by walking his fingers over all of Peter's most ticklish spots. Not only was Peter sore on the insides of his thighs and butt from the horseback riding, but he realized with a gasp that Davy was turning him on _again._

Well, this _was_ their last night completely alone together- they _did _have to go pick up the other two Monkees tomorrow, so why not?

They had never gotten dressed after the first time, only a few hours ago, so it didn't take longer than fifteen seconds of tickling before they both sported full, throbbing erections. Davy looked down and laughed. "Don't get too carried away-a knee in the groin while tickling might kill the mood." Peter's dimple had a way of creeping up when Davy was least prepared. When he saw it, desire warmed his insides, and he grabbed Peter's butt cheeks and they rubbed lazily up against each other for a bit, fanning the embers into a bright flame. It didn't take much for desire to spread between them like a wildfire.

Peter's breath hot on Davy's neck, he began whispering highly erotic thoughts into Davy's ear. The things he was saying were so loving, yet so earthy, and it drove Davy to distraction. Davy felt he would explode-how did Peter possibly know just what he wanted and needed?

"How can you sound so sweet while saying such dirty things?"

"You inspire me."

Peter turned around, so his head was toward Davy's feet, and circled the head of Davy's cock with his tongue, all in nearly one motion. Davy, truly shocked by the speed at which  
Peter had managed it, not to mention the intensity of the feeling, just naturally reached for, and did the same to Peter. Davy drew the head into his mouth, and the degree of suction was just right to make Peter jerk spasmodically and grunt.

Davy thought to himself that he was loving this 69 position. Leave it to Peter to make him reach this height of stimulation, once again. They weren't quiet or shy about it. The noises their mouths made on each other filled the room and the erotic sound caused a mutual frenetic need in them.

"Ummmm. . . " Peter acted as if he were enjoying a delicious dessert. When Davy reached his orgasm a few minutes later, Peter savored his sweet, slightly salty taste as Davy's steady pulsing filled his mouth. Davy groaned loud and long, triggering Peter's climax. As Peter felt himself going right over the edge, he cried out "Ahhhhhh. . . Davy!" as the waves of passion washed over him, and Davy lapped up every drop.

"Whew!" Peter pried himself loose from Davy. It was hot and their sweating skin was causing them to stick together. "I didn't think it could get any better, but I was wrong."

"Let's go upstairs and turn the fan on ourselves," suggested Davy.

As the fan cooled and dried their sweat, they started to cuddle.

"Davy?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you, you know."

Davy gasped.

"Had to say it-had to let you know." Peter could hardly believe his boldness. The words had just tumbled out, unbidden. Thinking back, he knew now that they'd been trying to claw their way out of his mouth for the last couple of days.

Davy didn't have a clue what to say, but he somehow knew it wouldn't be long before he'd be returning Peter's declaration of love. He'd wait until he was absolutely sure, so as to guard against hurting Peter. But these feelings. . . they were different from any he'd had before with anyone. He already knew he would utter the words very soon. That night was spent in each other's arms, making love just about every time they woke up.

"Sore," complained Peter in the morning.

"What from? Horseback riding, or what we've been doing all night?"

"Both! But make no mistake. . . its a _good _kind of sore. In fact, the best." Peter wanted that understood.

On the way to the airport, Peter took Davy's hand in his every time they hit a red stop light. He also occasionally put his arm around him, or lovingly on Davy's leg, just above the knee. He wondered what people in other cars were thinking when Davy snuggled up to him, but somehow, those things didn't matter anymore. Let them think what they would. He wanted to shout from the rooftops, treetops, the tops of telephone poles, to the world, that Davy was his, and that he loved him.

"Am I being too clingy? asked Davy at one point.

"Hell no! Bring it on. I'll never get enough. Bring it on."

When Mike and Micky disembarked, Micky's face white as a sheet, Davy and Peter were at the very front of the group of other people waiting for their loved ones.

"I made it, I actually made it!" said Micky over and over, proud of his achievement despite the fact he was tipsy from too many cocktails on the plane.

"Never mix downers with alcohol!" admonished Davy.

"I told him, I told him, man. And I made sure he didn't go to sleep, although I didn't have to worry about that much, because his eyes still bugged every time there was any turbulence at all. Important thing is we're here, and in one piece. That is, _I'm_ in one piece. If the first flight was any indication, without those cocktails, Micky could easily have torn me apart."

On the way home, Peter patted the seat next to him to draw Davy in, then put his arm around him at nearly every stop, and Davy wondered if it wasn't a bit soon to be so obvious. But he had no complaints. Mike and Micky were going to find out anyway, and according to Peter, they probably already knew.

As soon as they got home, Peter wanted to go to the bedroom to "take a nap," so he said as he openly grabbed Davy's hand and headed upstairs, Davy eagerly following.

Mike and Micky looked at each other thoughtfully after the bedroom door had closed. Mike picked up the Instamatic camera on the endtable and pulled out a picture sticking out a bit to reveal a shirtless Peter with lust-filled eyes and an obvious huge bulge in the front of his jeans. Mike smiled and showed it to Micky before putting it back down on the table.

"Yep, I guess it really _is _true," was Mike's comment, accented with a lazy grin. He was secretly thrilled that Davy had decided to return Peter's adoration.

"Think they'll make a lot of noise?" was Micky's question.

"Probably, but I doubt we'll even be able to hear them over our own. Come on." Mike took Micky's hand and they disappeared into their own bedroom.

**THE END**


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